


so brightly like we used to

by notspring



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Childhood Friends, Family Issues, Loneliness, M/M, Siblings, Time Skips, Tutoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:07:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28287453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notspring/pseuds/notspring
Summary: When Wonwoo was nineteen, Chan was the only one who made him feel like a good person. He's twenty-seven now, and things are different.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Lee Chan | Dino
Comments: 58
Kudos: 141
Collections: Seventeen Rare Pair Fest: 2 Rare 2 Pair





	1. intro

  
  
**CHANGWON**  
eight years ago  
  
  
A week before Wonwoo’s last year of high school, his mother knocks on the door of his bedroom. It puts him on edge immediately — she always leaves his space to him, never intrudes if she can help it. 

“Wonwoo-yah,” she says, and Wonwoo stiffens immediately at the tone of her voice. She doesn’t even sound angry, just exhausted — it’s worse, somehow. “You and your sister … is it going to be a problem?”

Wonwoo shakes his head immediately, even though he knows the lie is useless. It’s already a problem, and they both know it. The tension has gotten so high that their family doesn’t even eat dinner together anymore — his mother just leaves the food in the kitchen for them. Wonwoo can’t remember the last meal he didn’t eat in his room. 

“Are you going to be able to live in this house?”

His whole life, Wonwoo’s mother has never yelled at him, never raised her voice in anger. The slow blossom of her disappointment feels worse, has always felt worse. 

Wonwoo clutches at his bedspread, perched uneasily at the end of his bed. He swallows and nods, saying nothing.

“I’ve been talking to your father, and he agrees,” his mother continues quietly. Wonwoo freezes, forcing himself to look up at her. The guilt that’s been blooming for two years has grown so strong he’s sick with it, a sour taste at the back of his throat. “If you two can’t find a way to tolerate each other, we’ll have to find another solution.”

“What kind of solution,” Wonwoo croaks, voice dry and cracked. He sounds like a different person — he wishes he was. He doesn’t want to be himself anymore.

“Your aunt and uncle have room,” his mother says. For a moment Wonwoo just stares at her, looking for any sign that she’s bluffing. She can’t possibly be serious — she never puts her foot down about anything. But the longer he looks at her the more solemn her expression grows, and it makes Wonwoo feel even worse to know that he’s the one to finally push her to her breaking point. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he says, stumbling over his own words in his rush to reassure her. “I promise, you don’t.”

His mother stares at him for a long time before she nods, slowly.

“I don’t want to, you know,” she says. She still sounds so tired. “It’s your last year of high school.”

“I know,” Wonwoo whispers. He wouldn’t even blame her if she did want to — he’d want to be rid of himself, too. 

“I wish you’d talk to me,” she says quietly. Wonwoo shrugs, looking away. _No you don’t,_ he doesn’t say. 

He doesn’t say anything at all. 

As far as ways to start the final year of high school go this one is — inauspicious, to say the least. Wonwoo makes his way through the first week of classes in a daze, sometimes blinking to find himself at the end of a class he doesn’t even remember starting, his notes totally blank.

He tries to go to study cafés and the library more often, both to catch up with what he’s missing and to use up time before he has to go back home, but really mostly ends up wasting all his time at the PC room instead. His physics grades are already lacking, but his Battleground score has never been so high. If Wonwoo lets himself think about it practically, it’s not a very good tradeoff, so he mostly doesn’t let himself think about it at all. 

A month after school starts, Soonyoung recommends Wonwoo for a tutoring job without even bothering to ask him first. It’s for one of his dance friends, and he doesn’t seem bothered that Wonwoo isn’t at all qualified. Wonwoo can’t tell if Soonyoung’s noticed his terrible mood since the start of the school year; can’t tell if this has anything to do with it. 

“Trust me, dude,” Soonyoung says seriously, as he makes his pitch, turning away from his nearly-empty ramen bowl to properly convey his sincerity. “It’s super easy money, all you have to do is help him with his homework for a few hours a week.”

“Shouldn’t his parents hire someone who actually knows what they’re doing?” Wonwoo asks, skeptical, but Soonyoung only rolls his eyes in response.

“ _You_ know what you’re doing,” he says, like it’s obvious. “Your grades are so much better than mine.”

Having better grades than Soonyoung isn’t exactly difficult, but Wonwoo graciously refrains from pointing that out. 

“I’ve never taught anyone before,” he says, instead.

“It can’t be that hard, right?” Soonyoung says, with all the confidence of someone who’s never tried. “Anyway, you look the part, and that’s what’s important.”

“I look the part?” Wonwoo repeats warily.

“Yeah, you’re all,” Soonyoung pauses, gesturing up and down Wonwoo’s body in a way Wonwoo isn’t sure he likes. “Tall, handsome. Glasses. Cheekbones. You know?”

“You look at my cheekbones?” Wonwoo asks, too disturbed at the thought to even attempt to address any of the rest of it. 

“They’re really up there, man,” Soonyoung says, completely seriously. Wonwoo feels a bizarre urge to punch him rise up out of nowhere, something vaguely hysterical rising up in his throat.

“Fuck off,” he says, instead of going through with it. Soonyoung just laughs.

“I already gave them your number,” he says, smug, and Wonwoo really does try to punch his arm, then. Soonyoung just laughs it off, dodging him easily with a bright smile on his face. “You’ll like him, I promise. His name’s Lee Chan.”

Weirdly, Wonwoo _does_ like Lee Chan. He’s easy to get along with — like Soonyoung, a little bit, but dialled down to something closer to normal. Chan’s clearly not thrilled about tutoring but he listens when Wonwoo talks, takes him seriously, and Wonwoo doesn’t feel uncomfortable around him the way he thought he would.

Their first session goes well — Wonwoo hadn’t realized he missed it, helping someone younger than him. Chan really isn’t anything like her but it reminds Wonwoo a little of doing homework with his sister, back when they could stand to be in the same room together.

The second session starts out a little rockier; Chan brandishes his test at Wonwoo with a flourish, a bright red 38% scrawled across the top. Wonwoo is seized by panic immediately, sure this is the end of his tentative first attempt at employment. But Chan just laughs, waving his hand dismissively.

“My mom will be thrilled,” he says, clearly finding the whole situation hysterical.

Wonwoo frowns, not getting it.

“I got 17% on the last one,” Chan adds, laughing even harder at whatever expression finds its way onto Wonwoo’s face. 

“Oh,” Wonwoo says. He tries not to let it show, but privately he’s starting to feel very concerned. 

“It doesn’t really matter,” Chan says, not seeming at all bothered about it. “I’m not going to college anyway.”

“Oh?”

“I’m going to be a dancer,” Chan says confidently. “My parents just hired you because my grandma keeps getting upset about my grades.”

For a moment Wonwoo can’t do anything but stare. He’d assumed everyone cared about their grades, at least a little bit. Even Soonyoung gets upset when he fails a test, even if he never bothers to try to study harder for the next one.

“Oh,” Wonwoo says intelligently. Chan laughs again.

“Don’t worry about it, hyung,” he says, reaching out to give Wonwoo an affected little pat on the arm. It’s a little joking, a little condescending — not what Wonwoo would expect from someone younger than him. 

Wonwoo smiles, charmed by Chan’s boldness. 

“Alright,” he says. “You do need to study more, though,” he adds after a moment. “You really can’t get another 17%.”

The smile drops off Chan’s face, replaced by an irritated scowl.

“I’m good at other things, you know,” he says defensively. 

“Yes,” Wonwoo agrees.

“If you had to pass a dance class I could tutor _you_ ,” Chan continues.

“You could,” Wonwoo agrees again, then pauses as he realizes what that sounds like.

Chan straightens in his seat, suddenly looking a lot more interested. 

“Would you let me?” he asks, and Wonwoo stops to consider it. 

All two of the online articles he read about how to tutor someone mentioned giving rewards to students, so that’s basically what this is, right? Chan’s mom might not care about Chan’s grades, but _Wonwoo_ does, now. It’s his job. 

“If you pass your next quiz,” he says, finally, already feeling like he’s going to regret it. 

“Deal,” Chan says, looking very serious all of a sudden. He reaches for his textbook with a determined grimace on his face. 

Wonwoo is definitely going to regret it.  
  
  
  
  
  
**SEOUL**  
now  
  
  
“When are you coming home?” 

The question is familiar, unwelcome as it always is. Wonwoo clutches the phone to his cheek as he rounds the second flight of stairs. He’s saved enough now that he could get a better place, probably — somewhere with an elevator, at the very least — but it’s always seemed like too much effort. He’s never managed to make himself look at any listings.

“I don’t know,” he hedges, and his mother sighs. Wonwoo winces, the familiar guilt taking its place in his stomach. “I’m sorry,” he adds, even though he knows it won’t make it any better. 

He used to lie to her, to say work was just too busy. He doesn’t bother anymore.

“Bohyung won’t be here,” his mother says. Wonwoo sighs, coming to a halt on the landing and letting his eyes close for a moment. 

“I’ll think about it,” he says, finally. His mother heaves out one last sigh of acknowledgment in his ear, and then Wonwoo lets her tell him about the church ladies as he rounds the last set of stairs and moves towards his apartment door.

There’s someone opening the door next to his — his neighbour, he supposes. He doesn’t know them, but that’s not too strange. Wonwoo’s been in the building for four years, but he’s never actually spoken to any of the other tenants. 

“I’m listening,” Wonwoo says into the phone, in response to his mother’s questioning noise, and the sound makes the man in the hall look over at him. 

Wonwoo freezes. 

That can’t be — 

“Lee Chan?” he asks, squinting, sure he must be mistaken. 

The man’s face breaks into a wide smile, and there’s no mistaking _that_.

“Hyung!” he laughs.

“I’ll call you back, eomma,” Wonwoo says into the phone, holding up an apologetic hand to Chan as he listens to his mother’s protests. “Mm. No, no. I’m sorry. There’s someone here, okay? I’ll call you.”

He hangs up the phone, and finds him face-to-face with Lee Chan, for the first time in nearly ten years.  
  



	2. changwon → seoul → changwon again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wonwoo isn't sure how it happened, but he sees Chan almost every day. Some nights Chan doesn't even bother to stop at his own place first, just drops his work bag by Wonwoo's front door on his way in.

  
  
**SEOUL**  
now  
  
  
Chan hums appreciatively at Wonwoo’s apartment, which isn’t a particularly believable reaction — Wonwoo has been reliably informed by one of the two other people who have visited that his apartment décor is … lacking, to say the least. There’s a single photo stuck to his fridge, a blurry shot taken out the window of a car, from the trip to Gangneung he’d taken with Junhui and Minghao before he enlisted. Minghao had wrinkled his nose and begged Wonwoo to at least put something up on the walls the last time he came over but Wonwoo hadn’t been able to think of anything, so they’re still as bare as they were the day he moved in. 

Chan either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, looking around the space with bright interest. He laughs when he sees Wonwoo’s gaming computer, but it doesn’t sound like he’s making fun.

“Hey hyung,” he snorts out. “Remember that time you tried to teach me to play Battleground?”

Wonwoo chokes out his own surprised laugh in response — Chan had been truly terrible at it, struggling to follow even the most basic instructions, fingers strangely clumsy for someone usually so sure of his own movement. 

Wonwoo remembers trying to guide him through the most basic aspects of the game and failing, expecting Chan’s frustration but being met with only laughter instead. Chan kept begging him for one more try even though each attempt was more hopeless than the last — the only way Chan could stay alive for longer than a few minutes was if Wonwoo literally leaned over and moved his hands himself.

He wonders if anyone ever managed to teach Chan, in the end. 

“We could try again,” Wonwoo offers, surprising himself. The words feel presumptuous as soon as they’re out of his mouth, embarrassing and too eager, but Chan just grins at him.

“Good luck,” he laughs. “I haven’t practiced in eight years.”

Well. That answers that.

“You didn’t really practice eight years ago, either,” Wonwoo says, smiling. Chan slaps Wonwoo’s arm in mock-offence, but he’s still laughing as he does it. 

“Ah, hyung,” he says after a moment. “This feels like fate, doesn’t it? Meeting again like this?”

Wonwoo doesn’t know about fate, but it is nice. Chan grew up well — he’s solid, sturdy now. Handsome. Wonwoo blushes a little, glancing away, and allows himself a single nod of agreement.

“Did you eat?” Chan continues, brightening up when Wonwoo shakes his head. 

Chan owns a dance studio now, apparently — he chats eagerly about it as they wait for the ramen to boil, sat on Wonwoo’s living room floor and crouched over the single burner. Wonwoo hadn’t stopped him when Chan invited himself over for dinner, eager to catch up. His apartment has never been particularly welcoming, but it feels warmer when there’s someone else inside it. 

Wonwoo can’t help smiling at Chan’s enthusiasm, the way he’s just as positive as Wonwoo remembered. 

“What about you?” Chan asks, finally, muffled around a mouthful of noodles.

Wonwoo shrugs, taking a gulp of his beer. 

“Work is fine,” he says, aware of how boring he sounds but not able to think of anything better. 

“What do you do?” Chan asks, leaning forward like he really wants to know.

“Software testing,” Wonwoo says. “It isn’t very interesting,” he adds immediately, in case Chan is thinking about asking for details. 

“Oh,” Chan says, frowning. 

“Yeah,” Wonwoo laughs, self-conscious. It’s a little embarrassing to admit, after Chan just talked about following his passion for a good twenty-five minutes straight. 

“Would you rather be doing something else?” Chan asks after a moment, when it’s clear Wonwoo isn’t going to share anything more.

Wonwoo shrugs. Truthfully, he doesn’t think so. He’s okay at what he does, and his coworkers are fine. He doesn’t have to work very hard to earn money. Isn’t that all anyone is looking for?

“I don’t think so,” he says. 

He expects Chan to push, to tell him to aim higher — Chan has always aimed higher, after all, and Wonwoo feels like he’s always fallen short. Chan’s always been so full of ambition. It makes it embarrassing for Wonwoo to admit he doesn’t have any. 

But Chan accepts Wonwoo’s answer easily enough.

“Okay,” he says, smiling a little. “That’s fine, then.”

It feels — good, Wonwoo thinks. Like approval. Being around Chan has always felt like that.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **CHANGWON**  
eight years ago  
  
  
“How’s it going with Chan?” Soonyoung asks on the way to school. Wonwoo shrugs in response.

“Fine,” he mutters, which is true. It’s not really anything special. They meet up a few times a week and Wonwoo checks his homework, reviews his quizzes with him. Chan clearly doesn’t care at all about math but he puts in a decent enough effort, always paying close attention to Wonwoo when he speaks. It’s kind of gratifying, having someone who will listen to him like that, but Wonwoo doesn’t say that to Soonyoung. 

“Okay,” Soonyoung says, clearly disappointed that Wonwoo doesn’t say anything more. Wonwoo doesn’t take it personally — they’ve been friends since middle school. Soonyoung knows how Wonwoo is. “What about your family? Are things still weird?” he asks, shifting the topic.

Wonwoo tenses immediately, taken aback. Soonyoung has noticed, then.

“Things aren’t weird,” he lies, stiff and probably obvious. Soonyoung scoffs in response, not buying it.

“Come on, Wonwoo-yah,” he says. “You and Bohyung used to walk to school together like this every day, remember? Now you two don’t even talk, and you never go home either. It’s weird.”

“Maybe I just like hanging out with you instead,” Wonwoo mutters, his ears burning. It’s too early to be talking about this. He hasn’t even eaten breakfast yet — he alway waits until they get to the Ministop closer to the school. 

“Aw,” Soonyoung smiles, jostling Wonwoo’s elbow with his own. “Cute, Wonwoo-yah.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. 

“It isn’t the reason though,” Soonyoung continues, clinging to the topic. “Right?”

“If you already know that, then why are you asking me?” Wonwoo says, frowning. He knows Soonyoung doesn’t mean any harm by it, he really does, but that doesn’t do much to soothe his anxiety. Wonwoo’s palms won't stop sweating. 

“Just tell me, come on,” Soonyoung whines, grabbing at Wonwoo’s arm as he begs. Wonwoo shrugs him off, tense. “You can talk to me, right? You’re my best friend.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Wonwoo lies, flatly. 

The truth is that he doesn’t feel like he can go home anymore, and he’s desperate to talk about it and terrified in equal measure. But if he says it out loud he can’t take it back, and there’s no way to know how Soonyoung will take it. 

Soonyoung is a good son. He loves his parents, and they love him. Wonwoo can say with almost definite certainty that Soonyoung’s parents have never threatened to kick him out of their house. If Wonwoo told Soonyoung, could he understand?

He can’t trust that the answer is yes, so he keeps his mouth shut.

Soonyoung huffs and pouts a little, which only only makes Wonwoo feel worse. Quickly, to change the subject, he asks, “Are you still preparing for your show next month?” 

Soonyoung brightens, distracted by the opportunity to talk about his performance, using a lot of technical words Wonwoo can’t quite follow. His enthusiasm comes across, though, and it carries them all the way to the Ministop, safe from the topic Wonwoo’s trying to avoid.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **SEOUL**  
now  
  
  
It’s definitely not the first time Wonwoo’s heard something like this through the wall, but it’s the first time it’s happened since he’s known it was Chan. It always starts the same way — Wonwoo can hear voices, followed by low laughter, the mood somehow unmistakeable even when he’s listening secondhand like this. It’s worse when there’s laughter, he thinks — a sharp thump and then a cackle. Like they’re having fun with it, comfortable in a way Wonwoo can’t imagine himself ever feeling, can’t help wondering about anyway. 

The quiet doesn't last, of course, the thumping starting back up in an unmistakeable rhythm. Wonwoo's eyes blink open, heat rising in his cheeks. 

There are headphones on Wonwoo's desk — expensive, noise cancelling. He doesn't move to go and get them. 

The moans, when they start to filter in through the wall, are unmistakably male — both of them. Wonwoo lies in the dark, listening. A sharp gasp, followed by choked-off groan. 

Wonwoo could get the headphones — he _should_ get the headphones. He could move to the couch — it’s against the opposite wall. He wouldn’t be able to hear anything there.

He doesn’t move. 

His skin feels like it’s burning, listening to Chan through the wall, the sting of shame only making the feeling more intense. He wonders if Chan knows Wonwoo can hear him, if he even considered it at all. 

Probably not, Wonwoo thinks, the shame only building. 

He still doesn’t move.

When Chan shows up the next night armed with chicken and beer, he’s smiling brightly like there's nothing amiss, and Wonwoo can't stop staring at the line of his throat. At the flex of his forearm when he pops the tab to open his beer. 

“Remember how we used to do this when we were kids?” Chan says. 

“Did we?” Wonwoo asks dryly, staring at the beer can in Chan’s hand, the way Chan’s hand is wrapped around it. Even his hands are nice — smaller than Wonwoo’s, a little dainty. Cute. Wonwoo blinks, tries to focus. 

“Well, we used to get food together,” Chan laughs around a sip of beer. “Maybe some things are different now.”

“Some things,” Wonwoo agrees. A stupid part of him wishes they could go back to the way they were then — it’s ridiculous. He knows he wasn’t any better when he was nineteen. But it was easier, with Chan. He felt like he knew what he was doing back then. Now he has no idea.

Chan is still smiling, oblivious. He hands Wonwoo another can. Wonwoo takes it, cracks it open. Tries to stop thinking.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **CHANGWON**  
eight years ago  
  
  
“Wanna go get ramen?” Wonwoo asks, sprawled out across Chan’s bed. 

“Ugh,” Chan groans from the floor, where he’s been lying on his stomach and glaring at his calculus textbook. “No more ramen,” he moans, abandoning the book to roll over onto his back.

Wonwoo frowns. 

“Are you not hungry?” he asks.

“Of course I’m hungry,” Chan says, a hint of a whine in his voice. “I’m always hungry. I want real food.”

Wonwoo frowns even harder.

“I’ll order something,” he says, deciding it in the moment. Chan sits up fully at that, a frown on his face.

“Hyung,” he says, looking concerned. “Won’t it be too expensive?”

“What do you like?” Wonwoo asks instead of answering, already pulling out his phone. He’s technically being paid for this — he can afford it. It’ll be worth it, he thinks, to get to take care of Chan. 

“Not Chinese,” Chan says, making a face. “Whatever else is fine.”

Wonwoo hums in acknowledgment, squinting at a menu on his phone screen. 

“Hyung,” Chan says again, voice a little more serious. Wonwoo looks up to find Chan staring at him, brows knit together in concern. “It’s really not too much?”

Wonwoo shrugs, purposefully casual. 

“I’m hungry too,” he says, and then repeats his earlier question. “What do you like?”

“Anything is fine, really,” Chan tries to insist. 

“It’s for both of us,” Wonwoo points out, frowning again. He doesn’t want to buy something Chan isn’t going to eat. 

“Ah, hyung, really!” Chan sounds exasperated as he flops back onto the floor. “You’re too much.”

Wonwoo just stares at him, waiting for an answer.

“ _Fine_ ,” Chan says finally, like it’s a deep hardship, rolling over to look back at Wonwoo. “Samgyeopsal would be nice.”

“Whatever you want,” Wonwoo agrees, and goes back to squinting at his phone with renewed purpose.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **SEOUL**  
now  
  
  
It’s become a habit, more quickly than Wonwoo would have expected. At first Chan knocked on his door with takeout, or beer from the convenience store, or both, but now Wonwoo’s started anticipating him, ordering in advance. It feels like the least he can do. 

“It’s better than eating alone, right?” Chan always says, smiling genially. Wonwoo always smiles back, and he always lets him in.

Chan tells Wonwoo about his days, his students and his students’ parents and his coworkers — his two hyungs, but he’s obviously reticent to refer to them as such. _“They’re only a year older,”_ he’d said sullenly, halfway through a bottle of soju. _“But Seungkwan thinks he knows everything.”_

Wonwoo never has anything much to share in return — he doesn’t really talk to his coworkers, spends most of his day staring silently at a computer screen, and he’s pretty sure Chan doesn’t want to hear about lines of code or automated testing programs.

But Chan always asks anyway, bafflingly enough. Always listens to whatever Wonwoo has to say, eyes wide. Laughs at Wonwoo’s jokes, his arm coming to rest on Wonwoo’s arm — or, on one miserable occasion, his thigh — as he leans in, warm and close.

Chan’s tolerance puts Wonwoo to shame, but when he’s had enough to drink he leans his head on Wonwoo’s shoulder, warm and comfortable.

Wonwoo doesn’t understand what any of it means. Does Chan know? Is he teasing him? Can he tell?

Wonwoo’s at work, checking his phone while he waits for the latest changes to compile, when he sees the notification. 

**Lee Chan**   
_wonwoo hyung! i’m so sorry to bother you, but_   
_i left a folder at your apartment yesterday :( is there any way you can come to the studio after work to drop it off?_   
_i’m really so sorry_   
**4:19 PM**

Wonwoo doesn’t really even think about it before he taps out his response. 

**Jeon Wonwoo**   
_don’t be sorry, of course i’ll do it._   
_where is the studio?_   
**4:32 PM**

**Lee Chan**  
[Location Attached]  
[Go to the spot | Route Search]  
 **4:33 PM**

**Lee Chan**   
_just give it to the guy at the front desk! he’s expecting you_   
_thank you thank you hyung really thank you_   
_i’ll pay for chicken tonight!!!_   
_beer too kekeke_   
**4:33 PM**

**Jeon Wonwoo**   
_no need._   
_what time will you be finished?_   
**4:35 PM**

**Lee Chan**   
_maybe… 11? 11:30?_   
_is that too late_   
**4:35 PM**

**Jeon Wonwoo**   
_no_   
_see you then._   
**4:36 PM**

Chan’s dance academy is on the third floor of a small building not far from their apartment — Wonwoo hadn’t realized it was so close. The building lobby and elevator are dingy, but when the elevator opens to the third floor the space is small but clean.

Wonwoo makes his way to the front desk, feeling weirdly self-conscious. There’s only one man behind it, phone pressed to his ear, nodding along to whatever he’s hearing. His eyes flick up when he sees Wonwoo and for a moment his eyebrows furrow together in confusion, before his expression clears into something more professional. He gestures at Wonwoo to wait, not getting much further than that before he has to reply to whoever’s on the other line. 

“Yes, yes, of course … of _course_ … yes … yes, eomonim….”

Wonwoo perches uncomfortably on one of the chairs across from the desk, feeling like he isn’t supposed to be there. 

The man hangs up with a final sugary-sweet “ _yes_ , eomonim” and looks up, finally. Wonwoo stands back up, approaching the desk hesitantly. 

“Is there something I can help you with?” the man asks pleasantly. 

“Um, yes,” Wonwoo says, reaching to dig around in his work bag for the envelope he’d stuffed in there before leaving his apartment again. “I need to drop this off for Lee Chan?”

The man’s demeanour shifts immediately, eyes widening in open curiosity as his customer service personality visibly melts away. Wonwoo fidgets under his gaze.

“ _You’re_ Wonwoo-hyung?”

“Um,” Wonwoo says. “Yes.”

“Ohhhh,” the man says, taking in Wonwoo’s appearance. Wonwoo tries not to hunch over too noticeably. “Wow. I thought Chan was exaggerating, but you really are handsome.”

“Um,” Wonwoo says again, flustered and distracted. Chan said he was handsome? He’s still clutching the envelope awkwardly to his chest, he realizes. He sets it down on the desk in front of him, pushing it forward a little, ignoring everything the man just said. “Can I leave this with you, or….?”

“Hm?” The man looks down at the envelope and startles, his smile from earlier returning. “Oh! Of course you can,” he says graciously, reaching for the envelope and taking it with both hands. “I’ll get it to him for you, no problem.”

“Thanks,” Wonwoo says, and then he pauses, unsure. Is it weird if he just leaves? Somehow it feels rude, even if there’s no real reason for him to stay. It’s barely 8 P.M. — Chan’s going to be here for hours. It’s not like Wonwoo can wait for him. 

The man blinks up at him, clearly surprised that Wonwoo’s still standing there, and Wonwoo flushes, embarrassed.

“Did you need anything else?” he asks. His eyes are open very wide — it’s a little off-putting. Wonwoo shakes his head. 

“I’ll tell Chan you said hello,” the man says, then, a smile at the corner of his mouth. Wonwoo did no such thing, but it’s a nice gesture. He nods awkwardly one more time, then makes his way out of the building. 

_“I thought Chan was exaggerating, but you really are handsome.”_

It’s embarrassing, but Wonwoo thinks about it the whole walk home. 

He calls Junhui about it, once, in a moment of weakness, an occurrence rare enough that Junhui picks up the phone with a confused, “Is everything okay?”

Wonwoo cringes, regretting his decision immediately.

“Everything’s fine,” he says, and then stops, courage faltering. Junhui hums into the phone but doesn’t say anything more, waiting for Wonwoo to continue. 

Wonwoo considers hanging up, but the likelihood that Junhui will call him back just to be annoying is not insignificant, so he takes a deep breath and forces himself to keep going. 

“How do I tell another gay person that I am also … you know,” Wonwoo asks. He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, his face heating up even though Junhui isn’t even in the room to see it. 

“I know what?” Junhui asks, probably just to be a shit.

“That I have … similar interests,” Wonwoo manages. 

“That depends, I guess,” Junhui says slowly. He sounds thoughtful, but Wonwoo thinks he might just be fucking with him. “Do you want to express solidarity or do you want to suck his dick?”

Wonwoo chokes on nothing, coughing sharply for a solid thirty seconds before he catches his breath. 

“Never mind,” he says. “I’ll ask someone else.”

He doesn’t actually have someone else, but that’s fine. He probably shouldn’t have brought it up to anyone at all. 

“I don’t know if you’ve considered this, but you can always just say _I’m gay_ ,” Junhui adds. 

Wonwoo hangs up the phone just to make a point, but he’s desperate enough that he ends up picking it up again when Junhui calls back thirty seconds later.

“He keeps touching my thigh,” Wonwoo says desperately, not even letting Junhui say hello first — he’s sure that whatever Junhui was going to lead with, it wouldn’t be something Wonwoo wanted to hear.

“What kind of touching?” Junhui asks curiously. “Grasping? Grazing? Brushing? Maybe some squeezing?” 

Wonwoo’s face burns. Junhui’s doing this on purpose — he has to be. 

“I don’t know,” Wonwoo says helplessly. “Like, squeezing, I guess?”

“Definitely into you,” Junhui says, sounding very sure of himself.

“Wait, really?” Wonwoo asks. “You can tell?”

Junhui lets out a sharp bark of laughter. 

“Of course not,” he says. “How the hell would I be able to tell that?”

Wonwoo closes his eyes, forcing himself to take a few deep breaths before he speaks.

“Then why did you _ask_ ,” he manages, finally, half infuriated and half resigned.

“I don’t know,” Junhui says, which is, unfortunately, probably true. Wonwoo isn’t sure anyone knows why Junhui does anything. “You know I came out like two weeks before I met you, right? I don’t know why you keep treating me like some kind of gay guru.”

Wonwoo makes a face. 

“You’re better at it than me, though,” he says.

Junhui pauses.

“I feel like you should have called Minghao,” he says. “He’s better than either of us.”

That may be true, but Wonwoo feels bad telling Minghao to fuck off if he gets uncomfortable — he has no such qualms with Junhui. 

“You’re doing fine,” he lies instead. 

There’s another pause, long enough to make Wonwoo wonder if Junhui’s forgotten about the conversation entirely. 

“Honestly, I don’t know what to tell you,” Junhui says, finally. “You just need to say it.”

Wonwoo sighs.

“Okay,” he says halfheartedly.

“Or you can be alone forever,” Junhui adds, clearly sensing Wonwoo’s reluctance. 

“Okay,” Wonwoo says again, and Junhui laughs.

“You definitely need Minghao for this,” he says.

He’s right, probably, but when Junhui hangs up Wonwoo doesn’t make a second call.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **CHANGWON**  
eight years ago  
  
  
"Do you have a girlfriend?"

Wonwoo freezes at the question, pausing where he'd been checking Chan's workbook. He lets his eyes flicker up to meet Chan's. There's no malice on Chan's expression, only open curiosity. 

"No," he says carefully, after a moment.

"But you're so handsome," Chan says with a frown, looking genuinely confused. “No one’s ever confessed to you?”

Wonwoo shifts. He knows the girls at school talk about him sometimes, but the attention has always made him feel uncomfortable. He’s never tried to speak to any of them, and he turned down the few girls who were brave enough to try to come to him.

“I’m busy,” he lies. “The suneung is this year, so….”

It’s a weak excuse — plenty of his classmates are dating. Most of them, even. He sees them at break times, on the sidewalk outside the study café late at night. It’s impossible to ignore, but Wonwoo does his best. 

Chan frowns even more deeply.

“It’s a good thing I’m not taking it, then,” he says decisively. “ _I_ don’t want to be single for all of high school.”

“You can still take it,” Wonwoo says automatically. It feels like his duty, as Chan’s hyung. Perhaps more importantly, as the guy who’s making money as Chan’s tutor. “Other people study and date, just not….”

He trails off, leaving the end of the pathetic of that sentence unsaid. But Chan doesn’t seem judgmental at all — he only nods seriously. 

“You must study really hard, then,” he says. Wonwoo’s answering smile is more like a grimace. Honestly, he still hasn’t been pushing himself hard enough at all. If Wonwoo doesn’t have time, it’s because he’s been wasting it all in the PC room, or staring blankly at his notes instead of learning anything. He keeps waiting for someone to catch on, to notice that he’s falling behind, but his parents aren’t speaking to him and his teachers don’t care. Chan and Soonyoung are the only people he even talks to, most of the time. 

Wonwoo knows he can’t keep it up forever, but the longer he goes without buckling down the more he feels like he’s getting away with something. Like maybe he can just float his way through the rest of the year like this, with no consequences. Like if it weren’t for Chan and Soonyoung, he’d drift away altogether.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **SEOUL**  
now  
  
  
Chan’s the one who makes the first move, in the end, Wonwoo as useless as ever. 

“Remember when I taught you to dance?” Chan asks, sprawled out across Wonwoo’s floor. 

Wonwoo snorts out a laugh, reaching out to poke Chan’s leg with his toe. 

“Of course,” he says. It’d been so embarrassing — the way he couldn’t get his body to move the way it was supposed to, the way Chan had to grab his limbs and move them where they needed to be — but he’d liked it, too. “I had fun,” he adds, honestly.

“Really?” Chan laughs. “You don’t need to lie, hyung. It’s been like ten years.”

“I’m not lying,” Wonwoo says, meaning it. “It was fun. You always made it fun.”

Chan pushes himself to sit up, looking over at Wonwoo. He’s closer than Wonwoo thought, his eyes are trained seriously on Wonwoo’s face. Wonwoo feels trapped, pinned under his gaze. He isn’t sure he wants Chan to let him up. 

“That’s nice of you to say,” Chan says, finally. 

Wonwoo blushes, stupidly. 

“It’s true.” He wishes he sounded more casual about it.

Chan is still looking at him, gaze hot like a brand. Wonwoo can’t look away, not when Chan crawls forward on the floor. 

“Hyung,” Chan says quietly, moving even closer. “I’m not misreading this, right?”

Wonwoo shakes his head, the barest twitch. 

“No,” he says, voice hoarse.

Chan leans in, as confident in this as he is in everything else. 

He sounds different, on this side of the wall.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **CHANGWON**  
eight years ago  
  
  
Wonwoo gets paired with Dongwook for their physics assignment, their teacher saving them the humiliation of having to look for their partners by making the designations himself. 

Wonwoo isn’t sure if he’s thrilled or mortified at the assignment — Dongwook is friendly, well-liked. They’re seat partners, but they don’t speak much. Dongwook sometimes makes noises of frustration when the lesson is particularly unintelligible, and Wonwoo grunts in agreement, and that’s usually the most they interact. 

But Dongwook dropped his pencil, once, and it rolled under Wonwoo’s chair. The smile he’d given Wonwoo when he returned it was — it was nice. Warm. 

Wonwoo doesn’t know why he feels so strange when Dongwook asks for his number so they can meet after school, or why his hands are so clumsy he almost fumbles his phone. 

They meet up at Dongwook’s apartment — he’s an only child, and his parents have set up their office for him to study for the suneung. Wonwoo tries not to envy him the luxury. 

After they split up the work Dongwook keeps looking over at him, just little glances. The back of Wonwoo’s neck prickles. 

“Hey,” Dongwook says, finally, when they’re taking a break to get water from the kitchen. Wonwoo looks over at him, startled. “This is kind of weird, I know,” Dongwook starts, and Wonwoo’s heart picks up speed in his chest. It feels like — 

It can’t be —

Does he want it to be —

“Jeon Bohyung is your sister, right?” Dongwook continues, and Wonwoo’s heart plummets, the strange feeling (hope, he realizes now — it was hope) immediately replaced with a crushing sense of humiliation. His shoulders hunch over so tightly it hurts. 

There’s a long silence. Wonwoo doesn’t know how to fill it.

Dongwook laughs, finally, so easily that Wonwoo envies him. 

“Right, right,” he says, setting his glass back down on the kitchen counter. “Point taken, man. I’m sorry, that was out of line.”

Wonwoo nods.

“Sorry,” he says stiffly, but Dongwook just waves it off, ushering them back towards his office to finish up. 

Wonwoo’s cheeks burn the rest of the night.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **SEOUL**  
now  
  
  
“Bro,” Choi Seungcheol says, coming up behind Wonwoo to reach for a paper cup. Wonwoo tries not to startle. “Have you been working out or something? You look great.”

Wonwoo startles at his voice, feeling his cheeks heat without his permission. Seungcheol is nice enough, but the two of them have never exchanged more than a few words when they happen to get coffee at the same time. 

“Um,” Wonwoo says. “Something like that.”

Seungcheol snorts out a laugh, and Wonwoo winces as he realizes belatedly what that sounded like. 

“I’m happy for you, dude,” Seungcheol says. Wonwoo prays he doesn’t go for a backslap — Seungcheol always looks like he’s one deep breath away from bursting the seams of his button-downs. Wonwoo isn’t sure he’d survive it. “You never show up when we get drinks after work, dude,” Seungcheol continues. “I don’t know what’s going on in your life.”

Wonwoo can’t think of a reason why Seungcheol would have any interest in what’s going on in Wonwoo’s life — they work on the same floor, but they’re not assigned to the same section of the app. There’s no real reason for them interact. 

“Sorry,” Wonwoo says, sounding like a moron even to his own ears. 

Seungcheol just laughs, shrugging it off.

“Just come next time,” he says. Wonwoo nods in uncomfortable agreement. “And oh, hey — ” Wonwoo looks up as Seungcheol continues, halting where he’d been moving towards the door. “There’s supposed to be a big dinner next month. You can bring your girl!”

“Right.” Wonwoo forces his mouth into a brittle smile, nodding one more time before he finally makes his escape. 

He tries to imagine asking Chan to come to a company dinner with him. The idea of it is so humiliating Wonwoo can’t even think about it directly. Chan comes over because it’s convenient — Wonwoo’s easy. He buys Chan food, buys him beer. He’s always willing. 

Wonwoo allows himself a minute of self-loathing before he pushes it away, sliding back into his desk chair and forcing himself not to think about anything. 

"Did you ever end up telling your gay person?" Junhui asks over dinner a few days later. Minghao rolls his eyes next to him — either at Junhui's phrasing or the way he's methodically picking apart the piece of chicken on his plate, it's difficult to say which.

"Um," Wonwoo says. His cheeks flush pink without his permission, remembering how Chan fell asleep in his bed last night, how he'd used Wonwoo's shower in the morning even though his own is only next door. How he'd blown Wonwoo in the kitchen before he left, patting Wonwoo's hip and laughing when he finished, leaning back on his heels with a satisfied expression. "He knows, yeah."

"Oh?" That gets Minghao's attention, which is exactly what Wonwoo had been trying to avoid by telling Junhui separately. "Do you see him a lot?"

"Kind of," Wonwoo hedges. He isn't sure how it happened, but he sees Chan almost every day. Some nights Chan doesn't even bother to stop at his own place first, just drops his work bag by Wonwoo's front door on his way in. Wonwoo has no idea what it means, but he knows he doesn't want to talk about it now. He doesn't want to admit how pathetic he is, taking whatever he can get. 

Minghao stares at him for a long moment, a scrutinizing expression on his face. Wonwoo keeps his own expression carefully blank.

"It's good to have like-minded friends," Minghao says, finally. Junhui sniggers next to him, earning a sharp elbow to the ribs for his trouble. Minghao keeps his concerned frown aimed at Wonwoo. 

"It is," Wonwoo agrees. "Do you want to get another round? I'll pay.”  
  
  
  
  
  
 **CHANGWON**  
eight years ago  
  
  
It’s only 9 P.M, but Chan’s apartment is uncharacteristically quiet.

“Hyung, isn’t this too boring?” Chan asks after barely twenty minutes have passed, a hint of a whine in his voice. When Wonwoo looks over at him he’s blinking beseechingly, eyes wide and pleading. 

“You got 55% on your last homework assignment,” Wonwoo says, but his voice doesn’t come out as firmly as it should. He coughs to try and cover it. “Keep working, or you’ll never get to teach me how to dance.”

“Ah, hyung,” Chan pouts, staring at Wonwoo pleadingly for a moment longer. Wonwoo turns away, his ears burning. 

“Finish that page,” he mumbles. Chan huffs in annoyance, but turns back to his book easily enough. 

The truth is that it _is_ too boring — of course it’s too boring. Sometimes when Wonwoo thinks about doing this for four more years, it feels like someone’s wrapping their hand around his throat and squeezing. He doesn’t really like studying any more than Chan does, he’s just less … he doesn’t know. Less brave, maybe. School is what he has to do, so he does it. 

Thinking about it was a mistake — the choking feeling is back, pressing insistingly on Wonwoo’s chest.

“Actually, let’s go out for a bit,” Wonwoo says, deciding abruptly. He slams his own book closed and Chan looks up, startled, eyes wide. 

“Hyung?” he asks, but he’s closing his own book too — slowly, like if he moves too quickly Wonwoo will change his mind.

“Get your hoodie,” Wonwoo says, bluffing confidence he doesn’t feel as he nods towards where Chan discarded it on the floor earlier. 

Chan nods and struggles back into the hoodie, his hair a staticky mess when his head pops back out. When Wonwoo laughs and reaches out to straighten it Chan makes a startled noise in response, blinking up at him. They’re closer than Wonwoo realized, and Chan’s eyes are very wide. 

Wonwoo’s laugh dies in his throat as he gives Chan’s head a final pat and draws his hand back, wrapping it awkwardly in the sleeve of his own sweatshirt. 

“Where are we going?” Chan asks curiously, completely oblivious to how weird Wonwoo suddenly feels.

Wonwoo shrugs. He hadn’t really thought ahead that far, but there’s a convenience store outside Chan’s building, and that’s as good a destination as any. 

Chan nods and doesn’t push Wonwoo to answer properly, just follows him agreeably through the dark living room to the front door, both of them pausing to struggle into their shoes before they slip out into the apartment hallway. 

“You’re really not gonna tell me where we’re going?” Chan asks as the elevator makes its way down, scooting closer to tug at Wonwoo’s arm. He shakes it a little, teasing laughter only getting louder when Wonwoo makes a halfhearted attempt to pull away. 

Wonwoo hadn’t expected Chan to be like this: Soonyoung had described him as being bossy and annoying, too determined for his own good, but when he’s with Wonwoo Chan just acts cute, more often than not. 

“We can go back and study more,” Wonwoo warns, and Chan lets go immediately, plastering a deliberately solemn expression onto his face. Wonwoo fights the smile at the corner of his mouth. 

Chan keeps his mouth shut as he follows along next to Wonwoo, their arms brushing companionably as they walk.

Wonwoo leads them to the convenience store, coming to a halt outside the front door.

“Choose something,” he says, nodding at the ice cream freezer. “Hyung will pay.” 

“You don’t have to….” Chan’s voice trails off, gaze pulled towards the freezer, his resolve barely lasting a few seconds. Wonwoo laughs and nods towards it again, watching as Chan peers at his options through the freezer door.

“Do you want one, too?” Chan asks, looking up. Wonwoo had been planning on getting a soda, but ice cream is fine, too. They can eat it together before they head back. “What do you like?” Chan presses when Wonwoo nods his agreement.

Wonwoo shrugs nonchalantly, but Chan raises an eyebrow insistently, deliberately turning to lean against the freezer as he waits for Wonwoo’s response. 

“Strawberry,” Wonwoo laughs, giving up trying to be cool. 

Chan nods firmly and turns back to the freezer, looking very determined. He rustles around for a bit before emerging triumphant, holding up two brightly coloured packages and looking incredibly proud of himself. 

They sit on the empty chairs outside the store to eat them after Wonwoo’s paid, eating in contemplative silence. 

“You’re really different than I thought,” Chan says after a moment.

“Oh?” Wonwoo asks, wanting Chan to elaborate but nervous about what he’ll say. It feels stupid to care about what someone younger than him thinks, but he wants Chan to think he’s cool. Wants Chan to think he’s someone worth listening to. 

“Yeah,” is all Chan says, smiling. There’s chocolate at the corner of his mouth. Wonwoo reaches out to brush it away, the gesture automatic. Chan stills at the press of his thumb. His skin feels very warm. 

Wonwoo clears his throat, pulls back. 

“Sorry,” he mutters. 

“Don’t be,” Chan says. “I don’t mind.” 

Wonwoo nods, cheeks still stained pink, and they finish the rest of their ice cream in silence.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **SEOUL**  
now  
  
  
 **Lee Chan**  
 _hyung! are you home?_  
 **9:35 PM**

Wonwoo blinks in surprise at the message — it’s early, for Chan. He’s usually still at work this time. Wonwoo is at home already, of course, already changed into sweatpants and sprawled across his couch, idly staring at his phone screen. 

**Jeon Wonwoo**   
_i am_   
**9:35 PM**

**Lee Chan**   
_you should come meet me at the dance studio!!_   
_classes are over, i’m just playing around~ i can teach you to dance again keke like before, remember?_   
**9:36 PM**

Wonwoo does remember — Chan’s earnest instruction, hands guiding Wonwoo where he needed to go. Wonwoo’s crippling embarrassment, both at his inability to follow the rhythm and the act of being touched. 

If he was in his right mind he’d say no. _No, sorry, I’m too tired._ But Chan would see right through it, and he’d be hurt. 

**Jeon Wonwoo**   
_okay._   
_give me a moment to get ready_   
**9:39 PM**

**Lee Chan**   
_just wear whatever you’re wearing! no one will care kekeke_   
**9:39 PM**

When Wonwoo shows up at the dance school twenty minutes later he lets himself in, following Chan’s instructions to make his way to the only practice room that’s still occupied. Wonwoo slips into the room and halts in the doorway, surprised, when he finds three occupants instead of one. 

The receptionist he met last time — Seungkwan, Wonwoo knows from Chan’s stories — is sprawled out on his back on the floor, shoes discarded but still dressed in a neat button-down.

“Oh!” he says when he notices Wonwoo, head turning to smile at him. “Wonwoo-ssi!”

Chan startles, then, head turning to find the door. 

“Hyung!” he says, face breaking into a smile. “You came!”

Wonwoo nods, feeling uncomfortable now that there are two people he doesn’t know in the room. But the third guy — it must be Hansol, based on process of elimination — just smiles affably, giving a little wave before going back to his phone. 

“Come sit by me!” Seungkwan says, waving Wonwoo closer like they’re old friends. Wonwoo laughs a little, surprised, walking forward like a fish on a hook and folding himself down awkwardly.

“They’re finishing up,” Seungkwan says, waving towards Chan and Hansol. Wonwoo nods, not really sure what that means. “I’m Boo Seungkwan, by the way,” Seungkwan adds, and Wonwoo nods again, even though he already knew.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he says. Seungkwan smiles up at him from the floor, looking genuinely pleased.

“I’d sit up, but this is important,” Seungkwan says. “If I don’t lie down for at least fifteen minutes after the last phone call of the day I’ll kill somebody, probably.”

“Ah,” Wonwoo says, not really sure how else to respond. 

Seungkwan heaves out a deep sigh, staring intently up at the ceiling. Wonwoo stays seated next to him, legs crossed at the ankle and arms around his knees, not really sure what to do next. 

“Did you pick a song yet?” Seungkwan calls out to Chan and Hansol after another long moment of silence. “I’m almost ready!”

Ready for what, Wonwoo isn’t sure, but Hansol makes a wordless affirmative noise so Seungkwan starts to heave himself upright, letting out a dramatic breath as he pushes himself to a sitting position. 

Wonwoo startles as music starts to pound through the speakers — something upbeat, with a good bass. Seungkwan holds his arm up to Wonwoo, looking at him expectantly until Wonwoo laughs and helps him up. 

“You’re good at this,” Wonwoo says politely, after he’s sat in the corner and watched the three of them go through the song together, Hansol and Chan coaching Seungkwan the entire way through. Seungkwan snorts.

“I’m not,” he says immediately as he comes to stand by Wonwoo, a bottle of water clutched in his hand in a vice grip. “But thank you.”

“What gave you guys the idea to start a dance school?” Wonwoo asks, genuinely curious. Seungkwan looks over at him, like he’s surprised at the question.

“It was Chan’s idea,” he says, a note in his voice like he thought Wonwoo already knew that. “We met in business school, and when he told me about what he wanted to do I was like, oh! That’s perfect! My boyfriend dances, too!”

“Your boyfriend?”

Seungkwan nods his head towards Hansol, who raises his hand in a dorky little salute before ambling closer. 

“We met the way all gay people meet,” Seungkwan says, dropping his voice confidentially, like he’s sure Wonwoo knows what he means. Wonwoo stares at him blankly. 

“You were roommates?” he guesses after a moment. Seungkwan laughs, explosive like Wonwoo just told a really good joke.

“At the club,” Seungkwan corrects him, still laughing. “I tried to start a fight, and then I threw up on his shoes.”

“Yeah,” Hansol says, more than a little starry-eyed. Wonwoo looks over to Chan, confused, and can’t help laughing at the judgmental expression he finds on Chan’s face. 

“That’s nice,” Wonwoo says politely as he turns back towards Seungkwan, mostly because he doesn’t know how else he’s supposed to respond. Seungkwan snorts.

“It wasn’t,” he says immediately. “Hansol’s a freak.”

“Yeah,” Hansol says again, but he’s laughing this time. 

“Don’t make that face, Lee Chan,” Seungkwan calls warningly, turning towards where Chan’s still hovering by his bag. Chan startles, then smoothes his expression into a placid smile.

“What face,” he says. Wonwoo snorts out a laugh. Seungkwan’s eyes narrow. 

“You don’t get to judge me,” he says. “You had a crush on Hansol when you met him, too.”

Chan makes a face like he’s sucking on a lemon, nose scrunched up in distaste. 

“For like five minutes,” he whines, turning towards Wonwoo. “Look at him!”

Wonwoo follows Chan’s gesture towards Hansol’s face, smiling a little at Hansol’s visibly uncomfortable expression. 

“He’s okay,” Wonwoo teases, laughing at the way Hansol’s eyebrows raise in response. “He’s not my type, though.”

“Oh?” Seungkwan asks, moving to wrap an arm around Hansol’s forearm. “What’s your type, then?”

“Oh,” Wonwoo hedges, confidence leaving him as the other three wait for his response. He coughs uncomfortably, shoulders tightening. “Someone cute, I guess,” he says, finally, cheeks flushing red.

“I see,” Seungkwan says with a knowing little smile. Wonwoo isn’t sure what, exactly, he sees, but he already knows Seungkwan well enough to worry about it. Seungkwan doesn’t push him further, though, leaning his head against Hansol’s arm and declaring that he’s tired instead.

They wrap up quickly after that, Seungkwan locking the studio doors behind them before heading in the opposite direction with Hansol, Hansol’s arm draped comfortably across his shoulders.

“That was fun,” Chan says on their own walk home, his hoodie slung over one shoulder even though it’s really too cold for his arms to be bare like that. “You should come by more often.”

Wonwoo hums in agreement, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he walks. 

“You can’t take Seungkwan’s side, though,” Chan says. “He already has Hansol to agree with him all the time, so you have to side with me, okay?”

His voice is so serious as he says it — Wonwoo laughs, endeared, and nods.

“Of course,” he says. Chan squints, searching his face for any signs that he’s joking before nodding firmly. 

“I’ll hold you to that,” he says warningly, holding up a finger for emphasis, and Wonwoo laughs again. 

“I’ll always take your side,” he says, still laughing. “I promise.”  
  
  
  
  
  
 **CHANGWON**  
eight years ago  
  
  
Chan answers the door looking frazzled and a little hurried. 

“Come in, come in,” he says impatiently, leaving Wonwoo to close the door for himself as Chan immediately abandons him there in hallway. Wonwoo slips out of his shoes, curious, and follows Chan into the living room. 

Wonwoo stops short in the entryway, staring at the absolute mountain of laundry piled on the couch. 

Chan grimaces, picking up a shirt clearly too large to be his own and immediately starting to fold it. His movements are messy but quick, like the task is familiar but he doesn’t want to do it.

“Sorry,” Chan says, looking a little embarrassed. “It’s not as much as it looks like, I promise. I can be fast.”

Wonwoo nods, and for a moment he just watches Chan fold, feeling vaguely uncomfortable.

“It’s okay,” Wonwoo says finally. “I can help,” he offers hesitantly after a moment, because just standing there watching Chan fold seems a little rude.

Chan looks up, startled. 

“Oh! Okay,” he says, pausing to gesture towards the big pile. “Just don’t touch anybody’s underwear, I guess,” he says after a moment’s thought, and then with no further instructions, he turns back to where he was struggling with a long-sleeved shirt.

Wonwoo has never actually folded laundry before, so he tries to pick out the things he can’t fuck up — socks, mainly, and hand towels when he can find them. He attempts a shirt, but halfway through trying to get the sleeves folded over correctly Chan looks over at him and immediately bursts into laughter.

“Hyung,” he giggles, reaching out to take the shirt from Wonwoo. “You’re really bad at this, huh?”

Wonwoo’s cheeks heat up with a dull flush; he shrugs awkwardly and reaches for another sock.

“Ah, it’s okay,” Chan says. He reaches out to pat Wonwoo’s shoulder, jokingly condescending. “You’re good at other things, right?”

Wonwoo laughs sheepishly.

“Like what?” he asks, fishing a little bit. 

“Ah, hyung,” Chan laughs. “You don’t need me to tell you that.”

 _I do_ , Wonwoo thinks desperately, but he’s too embarrassed to say it, shrugging and smiling instead.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **SEOUL**  
now  
  
  
“Wonwoo-ssi!” 

Wonwoo startles at the sound of Choi Seungcheol’s voice, turning to see him striding over, bag already slung over his shoulder.

Wonwoo nods politely at him. It feels a little awkward that he’s still seated, but he’s waiting for an install to complete before he can power down his computer for the night — the only one left in his section. Seungcheol glances at the progress bar on his screen and grimaces in sympathy.

“Oof,” he says, and Wonwoo snorts.

“Oof,” he agrees. 

“Hey, so,” Seungcheol starts, pulling out Wonwoo’s desk neighbour’s empty chair so he can take a seat next to him. “Mingyu and I were going to get drinks tonight, do you want to come with us?”

“Mingyu?” Wonwoo asks, confused. He shoots a quick glance at the progress bar on his screen — 87%. 

“Yeah, Kim Ming — oh! There he is,” Seungcheol says, waving at someone in the doorway. Wonwoo watches all 187 centimetres of Kim Mingyu from the 7th floor walk toward them. There’s a big smile on his face, handsome as ever.

“Hyung! Did you convince him to come with us?” Mingyu asks, sidling up to lean against the desk next to where Seungcheol’s sitting. He turns to Wonwoo, then, not bothering to wait for Seungcheol’s response. “Did he convince you to come with us?”

Wonwoo lets out a startled laugh, taken aback by the force of Mingyu’s friendliness. 

“Not yet,” he says. Mingyu pouts, eyes big and hurt, and in the face of it Wonwoo adds, recklessly, “but you just did, I think.”

He doesn’t really even have time to make a real decision, but it’s still worth it for the way Mingyu’s face lights up. He isn’t sure why Mingyu’s so delighted, and it’s embarrassing but nice. 

“Great!” Mingyu beams, then leans around to peer at Wonwoo’s computer screen. Wonwoo follows his gaze — the progress bar has jumped to 97%, somehow. 

Mingyu turns his smile back towards Wonwoo, and Wonwoo’s surprised to find himself smiling back.

“So you’re just about ready to go, then?” Mingyu asks, nodding towards the screen. 

“I guess I am,” Wonwoo says, glancing at it just in time to watch the download skip ahead once more.

100% — it must be a sign. Wonwoo powers down his computer and shrugs on his coat, lets Seungcheol and Mingyu guide him out of the building. 

They lead him to a bar close to work, nondescript but not unpleasant. 

“Don’t try to keep up with hyung,” Mingyu warns as they sit, dropping his voice to what he probably thinks is a discreet volume. “He’s wild.”

“Hey,” Seungcheol whines through his laughter. “You’ll scare him off, don’t say shit like that.”

Wonwoo laughs, too, looking between the two of them.

“It’s okay,” he says. It comes out quietly, but both of them focus on him as he says it, like they really want to hear what he has to say. “You won’t.”

Seungcheol’s chest puffs out at that, and Mingyu lets out a little cheer.

“Yay,” he says, waving the employee over to order the first round. 

“You should come with us to the gym some time!” Seungcheol says after his second shot, slamming the glass down on the table with enthusiasm. Mingyu nods in earnest agreement next to him, visibly perking up at the idea.

“I don’t know,” Wonwoo hedges — he can’t really think of any version of events that doesn't end in his excruciating humiliation. 

“No, no,” Seungcheol says, eyes wide. “You can totally start whenever, it doesn’t matter if you don’t have experience.”

Mingyu nods even harder.

“My friend always makes fun of us because we only go together,” Seungcheol adds. “Plus Mingyu’s always ditching me to — ”

“Hyung!” Mingyu whines, elbowing Seungcheol to shut him up. Wonwoo laughs a little, amused at their antics.

“Anyway,” Seungcheol says with a laugh, turning back towards Wonwoo. “You could come, if you wanted. It would be fun.”

“I’ll think about it,” Wonwoo hedges.

“Don’t just think about it!” Seungcheol laughs again. “You have to come, okay? You have to come.”

“Alright,” Wonwoo nods with a laugh of his own, watching another bottle appear on the table and hoping that’s enough to make Seungcheol forget about it.

At one blurry point it occurs to Wonwoo reach for his phone to send a message to Chan, just in case he was planning on stopping by tonight.

“Your girl?” Seungcheol asks immediately, a knowing expression on his face.

“Ooooh,” Mingyu says, leaning over like he’ll somehow be able to see Wonwoo’s screen from the other side of the table.

Wonwoo blushes, tilting his phone away before he locks it, just in case.

“It’s not like that,” he says, embarrassed at the attention. Mingyu grins, clearly mistaking Wonwoo’s discomfort for guilt at being caught. 

“I see,” he says, sing-song, punctuating it with a wink.

Chan isn’t a girl, and it isn’t what Seungcheol and Mingyu think it is, and their assumption makes something sick and anxious form in the pit of Wonwoo’s stomach. He doesn’t like the idea of someone thinking of Chan like that. Doesn’t like the idea that he’d treat Chan carelessly. 

“It’s really not,” he says, aiming for firm. “It’s my friend.”

Mingyu must see something in his face, because his expression sobers a little, his posture straightening. He elbows Seungcheol, clearly trying to be subtle and failing miserably — Seungcheol yelps in pain, eyes wide and hurt, turning towards Mingyu with an expression of consternation on his face. Wonwoo watches, equal parts embarrassed and amused, as the two of them have a conversation communicated almost entirely through puppy dog eyes and wrinkled eyebrows. 

“Sorry, I came on too strong,” Seungcheol says finally, focusing his attention back on Wonwoo, eyes wide with alcohol-induced sincerity. “I’m not actually very good at being the hyung.”

Mingyu makes a disagreeable little sound next to him, reaching out to pat Seungcheol’s shoulder, and Wonwoo smiles tentatively.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I think you’re doing fine.”

Seungcheol brightens at that, apparently even easier to placate than Mingyu. Wonwoo smiles at him, charmed despite himself.

“We won’t bother you anymore,” Mingyu says earnestly. “It’s your private life. Don’t worry about it.”

By the time they call taxis Wonwoo’s drunker than he’s been in a long time — maybe ever. Everything’s a little blurry, time jumping forward in skips like he’s missing sections of a movie. Mingyu reaches out to hug him when the taxi pulls up, big arms pulling Wonwoo close. He smells like alcohol and grease.

“Get home safe, okay?” he says quietly, mouth pulled into a tiny smile. “To whoever.”

Wonwoo blinks at that, but before he can register the implications of it Mingyu’s backed off, arm slung around Seungcheol’s shoulders, both of them waving Wonwoo into the taxi with a cheer.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **CHANGWON**  
eight years ago  
  
  
Soonyoung meets up with Wonwoo at the Ministop after his dress rehearsal — he didn’t bother washing his face, and it’s still made up so heavily he doesn’t even look like himself, eyes dark and sharp. 

They sit side-by-side at the convenience store counter, Wonwoo laughing at Soonyoung for still buying mild ramyun even after so many years, Soonyoung shooting skeptical glances at Wonwoo’s red broth with his eyebrows wrinkled in concern. 

Even with the makeup Soonyoung is still so familiar — the way he sits neatly but eats like a child, making loud slurping noises and dripping it down his chin. Wonwoo makes a face, sliding a napkin across the counter towards him. Soonyoung takes it with a goofy grin, wiping sloppily around his mouth. 

Wonwoo could talk to him, he thinks. It’s Soonyoung — he’d listen. Even if he didn’t understand, Wonwoo thinks he’d listen.

“Wonwoo,” Soonyoung says seriously, before Wonwoo has a chance to open his mouth. “I have to tell you something.”

Wonwoo freezes, staring at him. Could it be — no. That can’t be what Soonyoung is going to tell him. Soonyoung isn’t like that. He’s always talking about girls. He had a girlfriend last year, even — Yukyung, who he met in a remedial math course. Wonwoo spent the entire four months they were together waiting for them to break up. 

_You talk about girls, too,_ a voice whispers in the back of Wonwoo’s head. He tries to shake it off, waiting for Soonyoung to continue. Soonyoung looks nervous, fingers twisting around each other, eyes fixed on the table in front of Wonwoo and not Wonwoo himself. 

“Just tell me,” Wonwoo says, his own voice dry and cracked.

“I’m leaving,” Soonyoung bursts out, heaving the words out on an exhale. He looks up, finally meeting Wonwoo’s eyes, an expectant expression on his face.

“Leaving?” Wonwoo echoes. He feels hollow, caved in, hardly able to believe it. This isn't what he expected at all. 

“Yeah,” Soonyoung says, still a little breathless. He’s sweating a little, from either the ramyun or the stress — Wonwoo can see it shining at his temples. “I’m moving to Seoul.”

“What about your exams?” Wonwoo asks dumbly, because he doesn’t know what else to focus on. 

Soonyoung laughs, and at least that still sounds the same. It puts Wonwoo a little more at ease, even as he struggles to process what Soonyoung told him. 

“Yah, Jeon Wonwoo,” Soonyoung chides gently. “You think I was ever going to take the suneung?”

Wonwoo frowns. Soonyoung isn’t wrong — his grades have never been very good, and he’s always focused more on other things. It’s stifling to think about taking the entrance exam, sure, but it’s not like Wonwoo has any other ideas. It gives Wonwoo anxiety, the idea of Soonyoung’s future without the security of a university degree.

It gives Wonwoo anxiety to think about finishing the school year alone, too. He wonders if he should have just let his parents send him away after all — Bohyung wouldn’t have gone, he knows. It would have been him. It should have been him, maybe. When Soonyoung leaves, what will be left here?

“I’ll still call you, you know that right? We’ll still be friends,” Soonyoung says urgently, leaning forward. The gesture is familiar, even if his eyes look dark and foreign. “I’ll make Chan send me updates,” Soonyoung adds.

Wonwoo blinks, then nods. Right. Chan. Even if Soonyoung’s gone, Wonwoo will still have Chan.

“Okay,” Wonwoo agrees, trying to force a smile. It’s a weak attempt, but he can’t bring himself to be embarrassed about it — not when Soonyoung’s answering smile wavers just as much.

“You won’t be alone,” Soonyoung whispers, fierce like a promise, leaning forward to pull Wonwoo into a hug. Wonwoo bristles but doesn’t pull away, letting Soonyoung squeeze him as tightly as he wants. “Don’t float away, okay?”

“Okay,” Wonwoo says again, a cracked whisper.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **SEOUL**  
now  
  
  
Wonwoo gets sick at the same time every year, just before Christmas. When he was a kid it would get so bad his mom used to take him to the hospital — there wasn’t really anything they could do, but they’d hook him up to an IV for a night anyway as a precaution. 

It scared the hell out of Junhui the first year they lived together — in his panic he’d called Minghao to come help him, and Wonwoo still vividly remembers the way his fever had broken and he’d woken to find Minghao perched at the end of his bed, staring directly at Wonwoo with his eyebrows knit together in a concerned frown. It’d been more than a little disorienting, considering he didn’t actually _know_ Minghao at the time.

He guesses it bonded them, or something, because ever since then he’s never been able to fully shake off Minghao’s concern. 

Now that he’s an adult Wonwoo just calls off work and tries to sleep through it, arming himself with Tylenol and whatever food he can bring himself to get delivered. 

This year is no different — he can feel it start the way it always does, the back of his throat scratchy and sore and his head stuffed full of cotton. He suffers through two days at work, but by the end of the second day he’s so lightheaded that he has to take a twenty-minute break in between subway lines on his way home. He sends a message to his manager like that, hunched over so far his head is nearly touching his knees while he waits for the feeling to pass, desperately hoping no passersby stop and notice him.

Getting home is such an ordeal that he forgets about Chan completely — Chan always finishes work later than Wonwoo, and he doesn’t like to send messages during the day. Wonwoo’s so exhausted by the time he makes it to the third floor that he doesn’t even bother changing out of his work clothes, just crawls straight into bed with his button-down still tucked into his slacks. 

The knock on his door startles him from sleep, but he’s so groggy that he doesn’t quite come all the way up, head still throbbing too hard for him to think clearly. _Chan_ , Wonwoo realizes dimly, but he knows there’s no point trying to make himself stand up. 

He reaches for his phone instead, fumbling to type out a message without his glasses.

**Jeon Wonwoo**   
_sic k srry_   
**10:37 PM**

Wonwoo flops back onto the bed, exhausted by the effort of holding his phone up, and lets his eyes drift shut again.

“—ng? Hyung.”

Wonwoo stirs, confused. It sounds like Chan’s voice, but that can’t be right — Wonwoo didn’t get up to let him in. 

“Hyung, come on,” the voice says again, and Wonwoo cracks an eye open to see Chan leaning over him, a hand on his shoulder. He looks worried.

“‘m fine,” Wonwoo tries to mumble, but it doesn’t come out quite right. Chan doesn’t look convinced.

“You need to change, hyung,” he insists, trying to pull Wonwoo upright. Wonwoo doesn’t shake him off, but he doesn’t have the energy to help him, either. Chan settles for urging him to sit against the back of the bed before he starts in on the buttons of Wonwoo’s shirt. 

It shouldn’t be weird, Wonwoo thinks fuzzily. Chan’s undressed him before, obviously, but this feels — different. There’s no intent behind it as Chan carefully slides his dress shirt down his shoulders, a focused expression on his face. Wonwoo isn’t sure when he last let someone close to him like this. Isn't sure if he ever has.

“Are you cold?” Chan asks quietly. Wonwoo shakes his head — his face is still flushed, and his hair is damp with sweat. Chan nods in acknowledgment and gets started on the button of Wonwoo’s pants, his hands steady. He manages to get Wonwoo into a pair of sweatpants before he pulls the blankets back up, tucking them around Wonwoo neatly. 

When Chan gets up to hit the light Wonwoo buries his face in the pillow, exhausted, and waits for him to leave. 

Movement on the other side of the bed surprises him, forces his eyes back open.

“What are you doing?” he croaks as Chan makes his way under the covers, tucking the other pillow under his head and curling up so he’s facing Wonwoo, phone in hand.

“Go back to sleep,” Chan says, shushing him. 

Wonwoo wants to protest but he’s just too tired, and sleep pulls him under without his permission. 

When he wakes up he’s alone again. For a moment he thinks maybe he dreamed it, but he’s still wearing the sweatpants Chan helped him into, and when he turns his head there’s a full bottle of water and a Tylenol next to his bed, a message waiting for him on his phone. 

**Lee Chan**   
_message me when you wake up!_   
_even if you don’t i’ll come check on you anyway~_   
_when you’re awake i’ll bring juk_   
**9:03 AM**

**Lee Chan**   
_..don’t worry i won’t make it_   
_keke_   
**9:05 AM**

Wonwoo stares at the messages for a long time before he manages to type a response. 

**Jeon Wonwoo**   
_you didn’t have to do that._   
_i’m sorry for the inconvenience_   
**7:42 PM**

**Lee Chan**   
_hyung! don’t be sorry~_   
_everyone gets sick! it’s important to take care of your health_   
_i’ll come when i’m finished work!_   
**7:43 PM**

**Jeon Wonwoo**   
_don’t rush._   
_work hard._   
**7:43 PM**

Wonwoo’s eyes are stinging, he realizes. It must be just that he’s so tired. 

“Wonwoo-ssi,” Seungcheol says when Wonwoo goes back to work on Monday, leaning against Wonwoo’s desk and peering at him closely. “You all good?”

“I’m fine,” Wonwoo says, shifting uncomfortably at the attention. 

“You looked really bad on Thursday,” Seungcheol continues, a concerned wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. 

“Ah,” Wonwoo says. “I’m sorry to worry you.”

“What? No, no,” Seungcheol says. “Don’t apologize, I’m just glad you’re feeling better.”

“Oh,” Wonwoo says faintly. “Thank you.”

Seungcheol beams at him, his whole face crinkling with it. When he claps a friendly hand down on Wonwoo’s shoulder, it’s not as heavy as Wonwoo expected.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **CHANGWON**  
eight years ago  
  
  
Wonwoo doesn’t mean to overhear it. 

“Jeon Bohyung? From second level? Fuck.”

“Right?” a second voice agrees appreciatively. Wonwoo’s face is burning — humiliation or rage, he isn’t sure. Both, maybe. He can’t seem to make his body move.

“She doesn’t look like she’d put up much of a fight, either,” the first person adds. His friend sniggers. 

Wonwoo’s hands clench into fists. 

Their conversation fades as they walk away, but Wonwoo sits there for a long time. 

“Wonwoo-hyung?” 

Chan’s voice startles him out of his daze. Wonwoo looks up at him, and —

Oh. Right. That’s why he was here in the first place — to wait for Chan. They’re supposed to study together. 

“Is everything okay?” Chan asks, frowning. Wonwoo squints at him.

“Sure,” he says. Does his voice sound weird? He hopes not. 

“Okay,” Chan says slowly, but he doesn’t really look like he believes him. “Do you still want to go study?”

Wonwoo really, really doesn’t. 

“Oh,” Chan says. For a moment he just looks confused, and then he straightens up. “Do you want to dance instead? We can try Genie again. Maybe this time you’ll get the leg thing right.”

Wonwoo blinks up at him. 

“Yes,” he says, finally. “I want that.”

Chan beams, reaching out a hand to help Wonwoo up.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **SEOUL**  
now  
  
  
Wonwoo picks up the phone tentatively, spinning away from the desk as he answers.

“Wonwoo-yah,” his mother says immediately. Wonwoo doesn’t think he’s imagining the hesitance in her voice. He braces himself. “How are you, sweetie?”

“I’m good,” Wonwoo says cautiously.

“How’s work?”

“Work is fine.”

“That’s good, honey.”

She pauses again. Dread builds in Wonwoo’s gut, almost unbearable as he waits for her to get to the point.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, finally, unable to bear it anymore. His mother clears her through, her discomfort obvious.

“I wanted to talk to you about your sister,” she says. Wonwoo feels the knot tighten in his stomach. 

“What about her,” he says slowly. 

“Her boyfriend proposed,” his mother says. “You remember Siwoo.” Wonwoo does not remember Siwoo, but he makes a vaguely agreeable noise anyway. 

_What does that have to do with me?_ he barely keeps himself from saying, but only because it would hurt his mother if he did. 

“His family is coming down in a few weeks,” his mother continues. “So we can all meet each other. I thought — I thought you could come, too. So they could meet all of us.”

Wonwoo sits silently, trying to think of way to refuse that won’t make him sound like a terrible person. His mother can clearly sense his hesitance, because she rushes to add more.

“It would mean so much to appa and I,” she says, not pulling any punches now. 

“I’ll think about it,” Wonwoo hedges, and his mother sighs. 

"Everyone used to say I was so lucky, you know,” she says, sounding defeated. "To have such beautiful children. You two used to get along so well.”

Wonwoo's tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. He forces himself to swallow, dry and difficult.

“I couldn’t understand what happened,” she continues. “The things you two used to say to each other … I couldn’t stand to listen to it.”

Wonwoo can’t think of anything to say to defend himself. There isn’t anything. 

“We’re different people,” he tries, finally. His mother is silent for a long moment.

“She’s your sister,” she says, then, voice pointed. “She’s my daughter.”

The guilt sits inside Wonwoo, sour and familiar. 

"I'm sorry,” he says, knowing it doesn't mean anything. "I know we make it hard for you."

“Wonwoo-yah." The disappointment is obvious in his mother’s tone. "I don't want you to be sorry. I want you to fix it." 

"Some things can't be fixed.”

"You can't possibly believe that," his mother says. Wonwoo hunches his shoulders, curled in on himself. The weight of her disappointment is so heavy. 

“I really will think about it,” he says, finally. It’s the most he can give her. 

“Thank you, sweetheart.” His mother’s voice is quiet, defeated. Like she already knows he’s going to let her down.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **CHANGWON**  
eight years ago  
  
  
“Give me the remote,” Bohyung orders, storming into the living room and flopping down on the other end of the couch. 

“No,” Wonwoo says immediately, not taking his eyes off his phone. “I’m watching this.”

Bohyung lets out an irritated breath, pointed and overly loud.

“You’re not even _looking_ ,” she says. “Do you even know what it is?”

“Sure,” Wonwoo says, flicking his eyes up to take in the TV screen. It’s a program on — fishing? Maybe? He watches the ahjumma on the screen for a split-second before turning back to his phone. “I love snow crab.”

“You are the _worst_ ,” Bohyung says, crawling across the couch to try and wrestle the remote out from under Wonwoo’s thigh. “You _hate seafood_ , fucking — ”

“Jeon Bohyung!” their mother’s voice cuts in from the kitchen, halting their scuffle as both of them freeze. “Where did you pick up that language?”

Bohyung stays still for a split-second longer, before a shit-eating grin makes its way onto her face. “Oppa taught me!” she calls back. Wonwoo doesn’t think he’s imagining her sing-song tone.

He scowls, pinching at her arms to get her to retreat, and Bohyung retaliates immediately. Her fingernails are sharp against Wonwoo’s forearms, like she really wants it to hurt. 

The two of them are still squabbling on the couch when their mother comes to a halt at the entrance to the living room, arms folded as she observes them silently. 

Wonwoo pulls back slowly, watching out of the corner of his eye as Bohyung does the same, finally sliding back to the other end of the couch.

“We talked about this. What would your father say if he saw you two acting this way?” 

Wonwoo is silent, his face burning with shame at being caught. It’s still barely enough to overcome the urge to keep going, and when he chances a glance at Bohyung she’s scowling, clearly not any more willing to concede.

“Sorry,” Wonwoo mutters, but it doesn’t sound sincere at all.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **SEOUL**  
now  
  
  
Chan comes by later that night, dropping in close to midnight still in his workout clothes. He didn’t bring food with him so Wonwoo orders them chicken, the motions of it so familiar to him now that he barely has to think about it.

“Is everything okay?” Chan asks while they’re eating, depositing a bone onto the plate and looking curiously over at Wonwoo. He’s still sitting up so straight — his posture never quite relaxes all the way, even two beers in.

Wonwoo considers telling him not to worry, that everything’s fine. It would be better, probably. He doesn’t want to overstep. But it’s been gnawing at him since he hung up the phone, the feeling too strong to push aside, so the words come spilling out of him anyway. 

"My sister's getting married.”

“You have a sister?” Chan asks. 

Wonwoo almost laughs. 

“You knew her,” Wonwoo says. It has to be true — everyone knew his sister, for better or for worse. 

But Chan stares at him curiously in response, a crease forming between his eyebrows as he considers it. 

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t,” he says, finally.

“Jeon Bohyung?” Wonwoo asks to jog his memory, dreading what Chan will remember. 

“Ohhhh,” Chan says, realization dawning on his face. “That was your sister?”

Wonwoo can’t help breathing out a laugh, bizarrely relieved. He nods.

“I had no idea,” Chan says, visibly processing the information. “You never talked about her.”

Wonwoo shrugs awkwardly.

“We weren’t close.”

Past tense, as though it isn’t still true.

“Ah,” Chan says, nodding, like that explains everything. Like he doesn’t need Wonwoo to say anything more. It’s an unexpected relief. 

"My mom wants me to come home," Wonwoo adds, bolstered by Chan’s non-reaction. 

"For the wedding," Chan finishes for him. It's not a question. 

“To meet her fiancé,” Wonwoo corrects. “In three weeks.” 

His shoulders hunch as he grabs his knees, trying to curl himself up even smaller. 

"Do you not want to go?" Chan asks, eyes assessing.

"Bohyung and I don’t really get along," Wonwoo says, which is such a giant understatement it feels stupid to say it out loud. 

"Ah." Chan says, his mouth shaping the word neatly. His nod is slow as he takes it in, a sympathetic expression on his face. It doesn’t seem like the right reaction.

Wonwoo shifts, still hugging his legs to his chest, grip on his calves a hair too tight. His fingers are starting to ache. 

“I know it’s stupid,” he can’t keep himself from saying, trying to provoke Chan into giving him the response he wants. “I should be over it.”

But Chan’s concern shifts into a frown immediately, confusion overtaking his face.

“Why would it be stupid?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious.

Wonwoo pauses, off-balance. He can’t find his footing in the conversation, waiting for a reaction that won’t come.

“I’m older,” he says finally. “I should be able to fix it.”

“Maybe,” Chan says. “Why don’t you get along?” 

Direct as always. 

Wonwoo laughs quietly, an ugly edge to it. It’s been a long time since someone asked him that. 

“My mom used to say there was something wrong with us,” he says, which isn’t really an answer. Chan’s frown only deepens.

“That’s not true,” he says immediately, like it’s obvious. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Oh,” Wonwoo says, flustered. “That’s kind of you to say.”

“It’s the truth,” Chan says, a little insistent. 

“Okay,” Wonwoo says, because disagreeing with him would be too rude. 

"I could come with you," Chan offers after a moment. For a long beat Wonwoo can only stare at him, taken aback. “Would that help?”

"Why?" It comes out before Wonwoo can help it, too blunt.

“Why not?” Chan asks, like it’s no big deal. “My parents are there, too. I could stay with them.”

Wonwoo pauses, considering. The cowardly part of him wants to say no, the thought of revisiting his childhood with Chan almost too humiliating to bear. Wonwoo can’t remember a time when being around his family didn’t turn him into the worst version of himself; he doesn’t want Chan to see that. 

“Okay,” he says again, instead. Chan offered, after all. Wonwoo isn’t too dense to see the kindness for what it is.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **CHANGWON**  
eight years ago  
  
  
“Hyung? Hyung!” 

Wonwoo looks up, startled. Chan is staring at him expectantly, but Wonwoo has no idea what he asked. 

“Sorry,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Can you say that again?”

Chan’s brow furrows in concern.

“Are you okay?” he asks, seeming genuinely worried. He closes his workbook, pushing it away so he can look at Wonwoo more closely. 

“What?” Wonwoo tries to laugh, but he can tell it doesn’t sound quite right. “I’m fine.”

Chan narrows his eyes.

“If something’s wrong you can tell me, you know,” he says. “I’m not a little kid. I can help you.”

Wonwoo isn’t sure Chan can, actually — he’s barely passing middle school math. Anyway, Wonwoo’s supposed to be the one helping _him_. 

“It’s fine, really,” Wonwoo says. “Just a bad grade, that’s all.”

It isn’t just a bad grade — it’s the way Wonwoo’s been slacking off all year, putting his studies off further and further, stretching out and waiting for the snap. For it to catch up with him, or for someone to notice. 

No one noticed, as it turns out, but it definitely caught up with him. Admitting it would be too humiliating — Wonwoo is Chan’s tutor. How can he help Chan study if he can’t even do it himself? But Chan doesn’t seem put off in the slightest. He just frowns, contemplative, like he’s really trying to figure out what Wonwoo should do. 

“I could help you study, if you want,” he says, after a moment. Wonwoo stares at him, completely dumbfounded, unable to think of anything to say that isn’t insulting. Chan laughs at whatever expression is on his face. “Not like that!” he adds, not seeming bothered. “Just, like. You can explain your work it to me, like you explain mine. Teaching helps you learn it better.”

He sounds very sure of himself, jaw already set with determination even though Wonwoo hasn’t even agreed yet. Wonwoo gives himself a moment to think about it. Chan might not be good at math, but he’s a good teacher — he was serious when he tried to teach Wonwoo to dance, patient even though Wonwoo was horrible at it. 

“Your mom is paying me to teach you,” he says hesitantly, not ready to agree to Chan’s plan, but Chan just shrugs in response.

“We can just meet up more often,” he says stubbornly, looking very sure about it. “You can still help me, and I’ll help you, too.”

There are so many reasons why Wonwoo shouldn’t agree — Chan is younger than him, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing. It’s embarrassing. It’s probably too late to do anything about Wonwoo’s suneung score anyway. He shouldn’t even be considering it. 

But Chan looks so confident, meeting Wonwoo’s gaze without faltering, that Wonwoo feels himself nod instead.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **CHANGWON**  
now  
  
  
Chan’s a good travel partner, which Wonwoo supposes he should have expected — he’s diligent, and punctual, and he likes to think of every detail. The night before they leave he asks Wonwoo if he’s checked everything on his packing list, only to be met with a blank stare — Wonwoo had just figured he’d shove some clothes in his backpack before he headed out the door. 

Chan insisted on helping him pack, then, which was unnecessary but kind of nice. He’d even given Wonwoo his spare travel toothbrush set. 

Coming back to Changwon always feels strange — now that he spends all his time in Seoul, all the places he’d loved as a child seem smaller, and more tired. But it’s familiar, too. Comforting. 

He and Chan share a cab — the driver stops at Chan’s parents’, first, before taking Wonwoo the rest of the way. Wonwoo watches Chan wave goodbye energetically from the entrance of his parents’ building, wishing his own feelings were less complicated. 

When Wonwoo walks into his parents’ apartment Bohyung is sitting in the living room, and somehow just the sight of her threatens his promise to himself to be the bigger person. 

"Where's your fiancé?" Wonwoo asks, his tone already uglier than it needs to be. He's glad Chan didn’t come with him. He’d be so disappointed if he could see Wonwoo like this — the worst version of himself. 

Bohyung looks up, rolling her eyes.

"He's at the hotel with his parents," she says. "Not that it's any of your business."

"He isn't here to see his in-laws?" 

"He isn't here because _you're_ here," Bohyung says, voice hard. 

Wonwoo stiffens, getting ready to say something in response, but their mother steps in before he can get the words out.

"Please," she says, sounding exhausted. "Can you two just — can we not do this? Please."

Wonwoo closes his mouth, chastened, and murmurs an apology. Something angry sparks in Bohyung's eyes, but she keeps her mouth shut, too. 

“I need a few things from the store,” their mother says, eyes darting between the two of them. “Wonwoo-yah, can you go for me?”

It’s obviously an excuse to get him out of the house — to get him to stop — but Wonwoo agrees readily enough. He doesn’t want to keep doing this, either.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **CHANGWON**  
eight years ago  
  
  
“Just to make my nose bridge higher,” Wonwoo hears Bohyung say into the phone in the kitchen, brushing past her to open the fridge. He snorts, and she turns to scowl at him.

“I have to go,” she says into the phone. 

“Appa will never let you do it,” Wonwoo says as soon as she hangs up, cracking open a can of Sprite. Bohyung just shrugs, refilling her glass of water in the sink.

“Maybe, maybe not,” she says, pausing to take a sip. She sounds indifferent, like it doesn’t matter what Wonwoo thinks. “I’ll be twenty in two years, anyway.”

“Your whole face will be made out of plastic,” Wonwoo says.

It’s too mean — Bohyung flinches, hurt washing over her face. It gives Wonwoo a sick sense of satisfaction, but the hurt doesn’t last. Bohyung sets her jaw instead, anger taking its place. 

“Better a plastic monster than a sweaty loser,” she snaps back, eyes raking up and down to take in Wonwoo’s appearance, as judgmental as ever. “And it’s just fillers, stupid. You think you know everything.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. He isn’t like this with anyone else — when Jang Hyein asked him out last year she told him he was the nicest boy in their grade. He wonders what she’d think if she could see him right now. 

“You’re so shallow,” he says. “It’s pathetic.”

He can’t stand it. His own sister, becoming the kind of girl the boys at school look at, talk about. Wonwoo can ignore it, pretend he doesn’t hear the things they say. But it’s humiliating, knowing there’s nothing he can do about it. He couldn’t protect her from it even if he wanted to. Even if _Bohyung_ wanted him to.

“And _you_ think you’re so smart, but your grades aren’t even better than mine,” Bohyung snaps. “Having a bad haircut doesn’t make you a better person than me, you know.”

A fresh wave of irritation washes through Wonwoo, a frustration he doesn’t know how to name. He can’t stop any of it, and that only makes him even angrier. 

“Enjoy your fake face,” he says, pushing past her to leave the kitchen, heading towards the front door.

“Enjoy your bad fucking personality!” Bohyung calls after him. He slams the door shut in response.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **CHANGWON**  
now  
  
  
Bohyung's fiancé is exactly what Wonwoo expected: tall, well-dressed, obviously wealthy. If his posture didn't give it away, his parents cement the impression — his father wears a grave expression and an expensive suit, and his mother's face has the brittle fragility that comes from years of regular maintenance. Wonwoo wonders if that’s what Bohyung will look like in thirty years. If that’s what she wants. 

He keeps quiet as they enter the restaurant together, hoping if he keeps his head down for the entire meal maybe they'll forget he's there at all — it’s happened before.

“So,” Siwoo's dad says after they've ordered, ruining Wonwoo's plan with a pleasant smile, “What do you do?”

“I, uh,” Wonwoo coughs and looks down, flustered by the sudden attention. “I test software.”

“Oh!” Siwoo's mom perks up, leaning in to join the conversation. “Our Eunwoo works in software, too! He's a developer.”

“It's a popular field these days,” Wonwoo agrees. 

“Eunwoo-oppa works at ICN,” Bohyung pipes in, voice pleasant. “Didn't you apply there too, oppa?”

Wonwoo flushes, stung. 

“I did,” he says tightly. “I took the position at BeNet instead, though.”

“Mm,” Bohyung nods, a perfectly schooled sympathetic expression on her face. “I know it was such a disappointment for you.”

Wonwoo's face burns. He reaches for his water, hand clenching a shade too tightly around the cup. 

“It's fine,” he grits out. Both Siwoo's parents are looking at him, now. He doesn't how to handle it with grace; he's never been able to laugh things like this off. 

“Any job is a good job these days,” Siwoo's father agrees, mercifully giving Wonwoo the out. Siwoo nods too, his first contribution to the conversation. Wonwoo is trying very hard not to hate him on principle.

“It’s true,” Bohyung says, nodding. “Oppa should be grateful for what he can get.”

The fury flares back up, white-hot and terrifying.

“What would you know?” he snaps. There’s an audible hush in the room, an uncomfortable quiet settling over the table. Wonwoo is too angry to be embarrassed, staring at Bohyung like there’s no one else in the room. “You’ve never even had a job. You just let your boyfriends buy everything for you.”

Bohyung’s face freezes, her jaw snapping shut in cold anger.

For a moment they only stare at each other.

“I think you should get some air,” Wonwoo’s mother interrupts tightly, breaking the silence. 

Wonwoo nods stiffly, coming back to himself slowly. The cold retreats, a warm flush of humiliation taking its place. 

“I’ll go outside,” he mutters, pushing himself to stand and edging behind Siwoo’s father to move towards the door. 

The shame is absolute, all-consuming. His hands shake with it as he makes his way towards the restaurant exit, slipping outside into the cold. He barely feels it.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **CHANGWON**  
eight years ago  
  
  
“You’re always so mean to me,” Bohyung says, huffing out a frustrated breath.

Wonwoo laughs in disbelief. 

“Why do you care? You hate me,” he says. 

“You hated me first,” Bohyung snaps. “You started it! You’re so fucking judgmental, I can’t stand it.”

“ _You_ started it,” Wonwoo protests, unable to help himself, the anger bubbling into something terrible. Something he can’t stop. “ _You started it_!”

He’s yelling, he registers vaguely. He can’t remember the last time he yelled at anybody. He’s not sure he ever has. Even Bohyung looks shocked, her eyes wide with disbelief, somehow still so perfect it makes Wonwoo even angrier. Every hair in place, makeup perfect. Like a painting of a girl, not the girl herself. 

“How did I start it?” Bohyung laughs, a little hysterical.

“You know,” Wonwoo says. “You _know_.”

“I _don’t_ ,” Bohyung says, the laugh fading off her face into something — desperate, maybe. Wonwoo heaves in a breath, trying to steady himself. 

“You — ” he starts, then falters. He doesn’t know how to say it, he realizes. It makes him sick just thinking about it.

“You are so — ” he tries again, but he wavers there too. Bohyung’s eyes are focused on him, waiting. He can’t give her this. He can’t give her so much power. He hasn’t trusted her in two years. 

“I hate you,” Bohyung says, and she really sounds like she means it. “I hate you so fucking much.”

“Well, it’s mutual,” Wonwoo snaps, but when he turns to leave his mother is standing there, blocking his exit. 

He stumbles back, frozen, waiting for her to say something, but she just inhales sharply, eyes full of disappointment, before she turns and walks away.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **CHANGWON**  
now  
  
  
The door swings open behind him and Wonwoo sits up straight, startled. He turns, expecting to see his mother’s disappointed face. He’s surprised to see Bohyung there instead, looking impossibly tall from where he’s sitting on the ground. 

"Did Siwoo’s family leave?" Wonwoo asks. Bohyung snorts.

“They’re still here," she says. "No thanks to you."

It's deserved, but Wonwoo still bristles in self-defence. He forces himself to breathe through it.

"I didn't mean to say that," he says, the words choked and pathetic and true. Bohyung raises a skeptical eyebrow. 

"No, really," he laughs, caught by the ridiculousness of the situation. "I shouldn't have done it. It embarrassed both of us."

"It did," Bohyung agrees, coming to sit next to him. She keeps a careful distance between them. It makes Wonwoo a little sad, for the first time in a long time. 

“I remember when I was still in elementary school,” Bohyung says suddenly. “I had this big math project, and I waited until the last minute to do it. And of course I couldn’t figure it out, so I asked eomma, and you know how bad _she_ is at math” — Wonwoo snorts in reluctant agreement, nodding — “so between the two of us we were completely hopeless. I was crying, and eomma was, like, frantically trying to call people to figure it out, but it was late at night and nobody was picking up, and I was halfway to a full meltdown when I looked over, and there you were. Just sitting there, totally silent, putting it together for me. I went over there and you never even said a word, you just helped me until it was it all finished.”

Wonwoo stares at her. The story sounds familiar, but it was so long ago that he can’t remember it clearly at all. It’s strange to think there are parts of him that are alive only in Bohyung’s memories, and even stranger that those memories might be good.

“I thought I was so lucky,” Bohyung says. She still isn’t looking at him as she says it, eyes focused on the pavement in front of them. “All my friends’ brothers were so mean to them, but you were never like that. You were always kind.”

The entire conversation has Wonwoo thrown off so badly that he can’t figure out what to say. He clears his throat self-consciously, but no words come. 

Bohyung turns to look at him, finally. He doesn’t let himself look away. She looks — like his sister. Older, now, and a little tired, the outside lamp making the dark smudges under her eyes more severe. But her mannerisms are the same, the sharp way she pronounces her words. The shape of her face, so similar to his.

They used to be so close. Their mother’s beautiful children.

“I still needed you when I got older, too. I don’t know what I did to make you change your mind,” Bohyung says, looking right at Wonwoo as she says it. “But I want my wedding to be nice, and I want Siwoo’s family to like us. So I’m sorry, okay? Whatever it was, I’m sorry.”

There isn’t anything for him to say, Wonwoo realizes. He’s almost thirty years old — it doesn’t matter. He does have to just let it go.

“I'm sorry," he forces himself to say. 

Bohyung looks startled, like she really didn’t expect him to concede. She nods hesitantly, like she thinks he’s going to change his mind, but Wonwoo doesn’t say anything more. He waits for her to leave, but she doesn't move either. 

“Are you happy now?" Wonwoo finds himself asking after a moment, surprised at the words coming out of his own mouth. “With your life?"

Bohyung stares at him for a long moment. Wonwoo fights to keep his face blank, his posture open. It doesn't need to be a fight. 

"Yes," she says, voice firm. It was a stupid question, Wonwoo realizes — she wouldn’t tell him if she wasn’t. He nods in acknowledgment, accepting what she’s willing to give him.

“Then I’m happy for you," he says, and he does his best to mean it.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **CHANGWON**  
eight years ago  
  
  
When Wonwoo takes the suneung, he walks to the exam hall alone. His mother offered to go with him but he couldn’t stand the idea, not after spending the past two weeks avoiding her in silent shame. 

He follows the route in a daze, nerves making his hands tremble even more than usual, even stuffed into the pockets of his coat. The walk feels like it takes forever.

At the exam hall there are other students getting dropped off by their parents, hugging them and receiving snacks, making their way into the building in groups. Wonwoo is alone. 

Alone, except —

He hears his name, once, and then a second time, even louder. For a hysterical moment Wonwoo thinks maybe his parents came anyway, as a surprise. But no, he thinks immediately. His mom was still asleep when he left, and his dad had already left for work. It can’t possibly be them. 

The person calls again, definitely his name this time, and Wonwoo turns towards the sound. 

It’s Chan, waving wildly. His cheeks are flushed pink from the cold, coat flapping open even though it’s December now, too cold to leave it unzipped like that. Wonwoo breathes out a disbelieving laugh as he walks towards him. 

“You didn’t have to come,” he tries to say, but Chan just shakes his head, bouncing a little on his feet to stay warm.

“Of course I did,” Chan says, smiling up at him. The smile fades a bit as he peers around Wonwoo, looking for something behind him. “Where’s your family?”

“They were busy,” Wonwoo lies, the sick feeling from earlier starting to creep back in. But Chan doesn’t push, just nods with a sympathetic hum. 

“Are you nervous?” he asks, then laughs immediately. “Ah, stupid question. But don’t be, okay? You’ll do well.”

Chan sounds very sure of himself — Wonwoo wishes he shared the sentiment. 

“Thanks,” he croaks out, nerves making his voice higher than normal. 

Chan nods, and then reaches for his hand suddenly. Wonwoo watches blankly as he does it, not stopping him, not sure what’s happening. Chan fumbles something into his hand, wrapping Wonwoo’s fingers around something small and plastic-wrapped. 

He opens his hand, looks down to see two candies, strawberries printed neatly on the wrapper. 

“Oh,” he says. “You didn’t have to — ”

“For energy,” Chan says firmly, then grasps Wonwoo’s arms firmly and pushes him towards the school’s entrance. 

“Good luck!” he calls, and Wonwoo turns for one last wave before he marches grimly towards his fate.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **CHANGWON**  
now  
  
  
Back at his parents’ apartment, Wonwoo’s mother stops him before he can slip into the guest bedroom. It’s just the two of them — his father is still outside having a smoke, and Bohyung stayed behind to talk to her in-laws. 

“I’m happy you and Bohyung talked,” his mother says. “I’m so relieved.”

Wonwoo nods stiffly, embarrassed. He thought it would be satisfying to finally get her approval, but he’s too exhausted to care anymore. He feels hollowed out. 

“I’m sorry we made things hard for you,” he says, but he’s repeated the words so often that the sincerity has all been washed out, faded to nothing. Empty.

His mother doesn’t seem to notice. 

“As long as it’s fixed now,” she says, almost to herself, running a hand up Wonwoo’s arm. Smoothing out the wrinkles. Making him presentable. 

“Why didn’t you ever ask us why we were fighting?” Wonwoo asks suddenly, exhaustion loosening his tongue in the quiet stillness of the apartment. “You didn’t ask Bohyung either, did you? You always just told us to stop.”

He regrets the words almost as soon as he’s said them, cringing at himself as he waits for his mother’s response. She looks surprised, staring at Wonwoo like she doesn’t know who he is.

“You were always so closed off,” she says slowly, like she really has to think about it. “I could never tell what you were thinking. It never seemed like you needed anything.”

It shouldn’t be a surprise — Wonwoo knows what people think of him. He’s too cold, and he never speaks enough. It’s like he isn’t even there. He’s heard it all before. 

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt, hearing it from his own mother. He stares at her for a moment, floundering. He has no idea how he’s supposed to respond. 

“ _Did_ you need something?” she asks, like it’s only now occurring to her. 

Wonwoo doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction of an answer, but it crawls its way up his throat without his permission.

“Yes,” he says, voice cracked open. 

He watches his mother’s eyes soften, finally showing the concern he’d wanted ten years ago. He doesn’t need it anymore — not from her. 

“Wonwoo-yah,” she says softly.

Wonwoo tries to hide his face, turning it towards his shoulder. He can’t bear for her to see him like this.

“I have to go,” he croaks out, slipping past her before the guilt gets strong enough to make him stay. 

“Wonwoo!” 

It’s too late — he’s already out the door. 

He leaves the apartment in a hurry, walking blindly without a particular destination in mind, but at some point muscle memory takes over and he ends up at the park he used to always come to with Soonyoung, back in middle school.

He sits alone on a bench for a long time, hands stuffed into his pockets. He wonders dimly what someone would think of him if they walked by — is he old enough to look creepy, sitting alone by himself like this? 

He fumbles his phone out, typing a message to Chan almost without realizing he’s doing it. 

Chan finds him there barely twenty minutes later. He’s wearing his glasses, and his face is a little shiny — he was clearly getting ready for bed.

“Sorry,” Wonwoo mumbles as soon as Chan is close enough to hear him. Chan frowns, sitting next to him on the bench. 

“Sorry for what?” he asks. “Don’t be stupid.”

Wonwoo huffs out an uncomfortable laugh, staring at his knees. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Chan asks hesitantly. 

Wonwoo doesn’t, not really, but he called Chan all the way out here, so he guesses he has to. 

“I think I made up with my sister” is what he settles on, finally. He can’t quite hear himself right — his voice sounds like he’s listening to himself through water. “I think I fought with my mom,” he adds for good measure. 

“Oh,” Chan says seriously, nodding as he takes that in. 

“Yeah,” Wonwoo says. He doesn’t really know what to follow it up with, so he settles back into an uncomfortable silence. 

Chan pauses for another moment, visibly searching for what to say.

“Your family fights a lot,” he says, finally, and Wonwoo has to suppress a startled huff of laughter. 

His family barely even talks to each other — how can they fight? 

“I don’t think — ” he tries to protest, but it dies in his throat. He coughs to clear it. “Yours doesn’t?” 

It isn’t really something Wonwoo’s thought much about. He doesn’t talk about with his family with Junhui or Minghao, and they don’t bring theirs up either. He has no idea if they have trouble with their parents or not — either way, whatever Wonwoo feels when he gets a call from his mom seems childish in comparison. Junhui and Minghao have a whole country between them and their families; Wonwoo has guilt and a two-hour train ride.

Chan pauses to think about it, then shakes his head. 

“Not really,” he says thoughtfully. “When we were kids our parents always made us sit and talk it out whenever we fought. We weren’t allowed to go bed until we weren’t angry anymore.”

Wonwoo stares at him, genuinely shocked at the idea. 

“Oh,” he says faintly. It sounds so foreign, compared to the silence of his home. No one in his family ever talked it out. They never really talked about anything. 

Bohyung used to joke about it with him, how their parents got so uncomfortable any time they tried to bring up serious subjects — they’d thought they were immune, as preteens. _They_ weren’t like that. They talked to each other about everything, once.

“Yeah,” Chan laughs, misreading Wonwoo’s silence. “It was kind of silly, I guess.”

“No,” Wonwoo says, and Chan looks at him more closely, a puzzled expression on his face. “I think it sounds nice.”

“Oh,” Chan says, and then smiles. 

“My house wasn’t like that.”

“No offence, but I could kind of tell,” Chan says. Wonwoo lets out a startled laugh. Chan laughs along with him, elbowing him gently the way he does when he wants Wonwoo to know it’s a joke. It’s cute. He’s cute. 

“Do you want to go get food?” Chan says abruptly, smile still on his face. “I’ll pay.”

Wonwoo laughs again, a tired edge creeping in.

“Sure,” he says. “Why not.”

“Preferences?” Chan asks, and Wonwoo shrugs. 

“I don’t care,” he says, completely honestly. He isn’t even sure he’ll be able to eat it. Chan nods, pushing himself to a stand, and once he’s upright he reaches a hand to help Wonwoo up, too. 

He takes them to get samgyeopsal and something sticks in Wonwoo’s chest as he eats, an emotion he doesn’t know how to name. Chan looks up at him over his own chopsticks and smiles. 

“You used to order this for me, remember?” Chan says. “I thought you were so cool.”

Wonwoo smiles wryly. 

“You know better now, though, right?” he says, reaching down for a radish. 

Chan pauses.

“No,” he says. “I don’t.” 

He looks up at Wonwoo and smiles again, neat and final, until Wonwoo has no choice but to smile back. 

“My parents said hi, by the way,” Chan says after a moment. Wonwoo freezes, staring at him.

“Oh,” he says, confused. “They remember me?” 

Chan blinks at him. 

“Of course,” he says slowly. “I’ve been telling them about you.”

Wonwoo stares at him for a long moment.

“What do you mean,” he says, finally.

Chan’s eyebrows furrow together, his head tilting to the side as he looks at Wonwoo. He looks concerned. It makes Wonwoo uncomfortable, fidgeting like his skin doesn’t fit his body quite right. 

“Because we’re together,” Chan says, bafflingly. “Right?”

“Oh,” Wonwoo says, in a faint voice. 

“Did you not know?” Chan asks. Wonwoo doesn’t say anything. His face feels like it’s on fire. “Hyung?”

“Um,” Wonwoo manages. “Of course I did. Yes.”

“Okay,” Chan says, nodding slowly.

_We’re together._

Wonwoo thinks about Chan sprawled out on his living room floor. In his bed. Chan kissing him in the shower, laughing when the water got in his eyes. Is that what he meant by it?

How long have they been together — the whole time? The first night Chan came over, sitting on Wonwoo’s floor with a beer in his hand and laughing too hard at Wonwoo’s stupid jokes? Or when Chan pressed him down against the back of his shitty couch, mouth firm and hands sure, Wonwoo fumbling to catch up?

Wonwoo doesn’t know how to ask.

“Okay,” Chan says again. He hesitates for a moment, looking for something in Wonwoo’s face. Wonwoo hopes it isn’t anything bad. “It was okay, then? That I told them?”

Wonwoo nods slowly, still trying to process.

“Of course,” he says faintly. 

He finishes the rest of his meal in a daze, lets Chan walk him home after. It all feels surreal, like it’s happening to somebody else and Wonwoo is only watching, not living it. 

He fumbles out a message to Minghao before he’s even all the way through the front door of his parents’ apartment.

**Jeon Wonwoo**   
_help_   
_please help me._   
**11:29 PM**

“So let me get this straight,” Minghao says ten minutes later. Wonwoo clutches the phone to his ear, hunched over on himself on the closed toilet seat in his parents’ spare bathroom. “You’ve been hooking up with your neighbour every night for months now, and you didn’t think it meant anything? And you never thought to tell anybody about it?”

“It’s not every night,” Wonwoo clarifies uselessly. He stares at his mother’s floral towels, contemplating death in the abstract. “But. Yes.”

Minghao heaves out a sigh on the other end of the line.

“And he thinks you’re dating,” Minghao continues. Wonwoo winces.

“He thinks we’re together,” he clarifies again, even more pointlessly. “Yes.”

“And that’s … bad?” Minghao asks tentatively. 

“I don’t know,” Wonwoo says honestly. “I didn’t know it was an option.”

“I mean,” Minghao says, still sounding hesitant. “You guys have known each other for a long time. You’re attracted to each other. Is it that big of a leap?”

Wonwoo flounders in silence for a long moment.

“I don’t — ” he starts, then falters. He doesn’t know what reaction he’d been expecting, but he doesn’t know what to do with Minghao’s acceptance. _Of course it’s a leap,_ he wants to say, but the truth is there’s no real reason for him to think that. 

“Wait a second,” Minghao says, before Wonwoo can finish responding. “Is this the guy with the dance school? When you made me go to that kids recital?”

“Ah,” Wonwoo says, embarrassed, remembering. “Yes. That’s him.”

“Oh my god,” Minghao mutters. “I’d expect this kind of thing from Junhui, but not from you.”

“Has this happened to Junhui?” Wonwoo asks, sitting up a little straighter. 

“ _No_ ,” Minghao says firmly. “Junhui sleeps with boys and doesn’t call them back, he doesn’t do … whatever this is.”

“Oh,” Wonwoo says, slumping back down. 

“Hyung,” Minghao says carefully. “You know what I’m going to tell you, right? You just need to talk to him. Let him know what you’re thinking.”

Wonwoo hiccups out a weak laugh, bringing his feet up so he can rest his chin on his knees. 

“I’m not the right person for that,” he says. Minghao makes a confused noise on the other end of the line. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Wonwoo frowns. Minghao sounds like he really doesn’t know, which is baffling.

“You know why,” Wonwoo says, finally.

“I don’t,” Minghao responds.

“I’m not good at talking.” Wonwoo thinks about his mother, earlier. _You were always so closed off._ “I’m too cold.”

There’s a long pause, Minghao breathing quietly on the other end of the line.

“Hyung,” Minghao says. “Who told you that? You’ve never been cold to me, not once. Even when we first met, remember? My Korean was still so bad, but whenever I didn’t understand something you would always try to explain it for me. Even when it was awkward.”

“Anyone would have done that,” Wonwoo mutters.

“They wouldn’t have,” Minghao says gently. “And I know Junhui’s bad at saying these things out loud, but you helped him, too. He’s grateful to you too.”

The sincerity in his words is almost more than Wonwoo can take — he fidgets with the material of his pants, overwhelmed. 

The way Minghao talks about him doesn’t sound like anything he’s heard about himself before. Doesn't sound like the way Wonwoo sees himself. 

“I think,” Wonwoo starts, then stumbles to a halt. Starts again. “I felt like there was something — wrong. With me. For a long time.”

Minghao pauses again. With anyone else Wonwoo would worry, but with Minghao the silence is familiar. Minghao likes to be careful about what he says.

“Do you still think that?” he asks, finally, voice even and kind. Like it would still be okay, even if the answer was yes. 

Wonwoo takes a deep breath.

“I’m trying not to,” he says, which is as honest as he can be. 

“I’m glad,” Minghao says, and then, more gently, “you should call him. I think you’ll feel better.”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo breathes, nodding to himself even though there’s no one to see it. 

“Good,” Minghao says. “When you come back I want to see you, okay? You can take me to the museum.”

“ _I_ can take _you_?” Wonwoo’s smiling as he says it, and he’s sure Minghao can tell.

“Mmhmm,” Minghao says, a hint of a laugh in his voice. “Maybe you can even bring your boy, too.”

Wonwoo blushes again, making a little scoffing noise into the phone, but the truth is the idea sounds nice — Chan meeting Minghao, maybe Junhui. All of them hanging out together. It doesn't seem as intimidating as it did a few weeks ago, maybe because now he’s sure it would mean as much to Chan as it would to him. 

“I’ll ask him,” Wonwoo promises, and he really means it. 

**Jeon Wonwoo**   
_lee jungchan. i’m sorry to message you out of the blue like this and i’m sorry if it’s too strange. i know you could tell i was surprised when you mentioned your parents, but i don’t want you to get the wrong idea. i wasn’t surprised because i didn’t care enough about you. i care about you a lot, but i was surprised that you cared so much about me. i’m sorry that i didn’t notice it before. this hyung will pay attention more in the future, i promise._   
**12:31 AM**

Wonwoo forces himself to double-check the message as it sends, already embarrassed by his own sincerity. He types up a follow-up without letting himself think too much about it, and sends that too. 

**Jeon Wonwoo**   
_when we’re back in seoul, let’s do something nice together. hyung’s treat._   
**12:31 AM**

Chan messages back reliably as always — he was probably already on his phone, Wonwoo knows. Chan likes to watch videos before he goes to sleep, always apologizes for the light no matter how many times Wonwoo reassures him he doesn’t mind. 

**Lee Chan**   
_keke all of a sudden.._   
_ah, hyung is sentimental tonight_   
_there isn’t anything to be sorry for, but i accept~_   
_if it’s hyung’s treat.. when we’re back in seoul let’s eat lots of meat!!_   
**12:33 AM**

**Jeon Wonwoo**   
_if that’s what you want._   
**12:34 AM**

**Lee Chan**   
_of course~_   
_good night hyung!!! see you tomorrow!_   
**12:34 AM**

**Jeon Wonwoo**  
 _good night._  
 **12:36 AM**  
  
  
  
  
  
 **CHANGWON**  
eight years ago  
  
  
Wonwoo leaves Chan’s apartment late at night, the hallway still and quiet. His parents still aren’t home. 

“I’ll walk you out,” Chan had said, which was totally unnecessary — Wonwoo’s been over often enough to know find his own way out.

He didn’t stop Chan though, let him follow behind as Wonwoo made his way toward the door.

“Thank you for helping me,” Chan says now, peering up at Wonwoo as Wonwoo stuffs his socked feet back into his slides.

Wonwoo shrugs. 

“It was my job,” he mutters.

He’s sweating inside his coat, flushed and uncomfortable, and it’s getting worse the longer Chan stares at him. He wants to ask why, but he doesn’t want to break the moment.

He leans forward, suddenly, wrapping an arm around Chan in an awkward hug. He doesn’t know what possesses him to do it. As soon as he’s made the move it feels imperative not to let their bodies touch too much, so Wonwoo starts to pulls back, patting Chan’s shoulder. Chan doesn’t let him get far, grabbing Wonwoo’s forearm. Before Wonwoo can recognize what’s happening Chan leans up onto his toes to press a kiss to Wonwoo’s cheek. Or — what he probably means to be Wonwoo’s cheek, but Wonwoo jerks his head in surprise, and Chan’s lips end up brushing the corner of his mouth instead.

Both of them stumble back, shocked. Wonwoo fights the urge to reach up and touch his own mouth, the corner of it still burning. His heart is pounding very urgently, all of a sudden. His body feels so hot it’s making him lightheaded.

“Hyung — ” Chan says, voice sounding rough and scraped out. He doesn’t follow it up with anything more, and Wonwoo has no idea how to respond, so for a long moment they just stare at each other. The back of Wonwoo’s neck feels like it’s on fire. 

“I should get back,” Chan croaks out, finally, jerking his head back towards his bedroom. 

“Okay,” Wonwoo says quietly, voice rough, and then, like an absolute moron, “thank you.”

It’s hard to tell in the dim light of the doorway, but he thinks Chan might be blushing. He ducks his head awkwardly, one shoulder shrugging up towards his ear.

There’s another awkward moment, Chan not actually making any moves to go back to his room. 

“My acceptance is official,” Wonwoo says suddenly, and Chan’s head whips up to stare at him. “I’ll be moving to Seoul in February.”

“Oh,” Chan says quietly. Wonwoo watches him force a smile, the shape of it strange in the shadows. “Congratulations, hyung.”

“Thank you,” Wonwoo says quietly. He feels like he should say something — apologize, maybe, but for what? “I’ll keep in touch, okay?”

“Okay,” Chan says, his weak attempt at a smile fading into something more serious. 

“Okay,” Wonwoo says. He hesitates in the doorway a moment longer, but no more words come to him. 

“Good night, hyung,” Chan says softly. 

Wonwoo murmurs a response, and then he lets himself out.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **CHANGWON**  
now  
  
  
Wonwoo apologizes to his mother over breakfast the next morning, embarrassed as he pokes at the soup she made for him. He isn’t even hungry, not really, but it feels like the least he can do.

She sits down across from him at the table, hands clasped around a mug of tea. 

“Maybe I should apologize, too,” she says. 

Wonwoo shrugs uncomfortably, slurping up soup to give himself something to do. He doesn’t know if she needs to or not. He felt so sure last night, his entire body shaking with anger, but now that it’s all drained out of him he isn’t sure if it matters.

“Wonwoo-yah,” his mother says softly, and Wonwoo forces himself to look up. “I am sorry. I’ve never been good at talking about things that were uncomfortable.”

Wonwoo’s ears are burning.

“I’m not either,” he says honestly, mouth twisting into a wry smile. 

“Maybe we can both try more now,” his mother offers. Wonwoo looks at her more closely — the lines starting to form around her eyes. How tightly she’s gripping her mug. He nods slowly. When she reaches out to pat his hand he keeps it still for her, lets her grip that instead. 

He says goodbye to his father early in the afternoon with a clap on the shoulder, and to Bohyung with a halfhearted hug, and then his mother drives him to the train station alone. 

“You’ll call, right?” She pats at his arms, his shoulders, his back, like she’s testing him to make sure he’s all in one piece. He laughs a little at the gesture. 

“I’ll call,” he promises. After a moment, he reaches down to wrap his arms around her, pulling her into an awkward hug. 

“My sweet boy,” she says, drawing back to cup his cheeks in her hands. Wonwoo flushes at the gesture, embarrassed. It’s been a long time since she’s called him that.

“I’ll call,” he says again. “But I have to — ” 

He nods his head towards the station, where Chan is waiting for him inside.

“Of course,” his mother says, stepping back. 

When he turns back at the door she’s still waving. Wonwoo raises his own hand one last time in response. 

“What a weekend,” Chan says on an exhale as he settles into his seat and closing his eyes immediately. “I’m exhausted.”

Wonwoo snorts out a laugh.

“ _You’re_ exhausted?” he asks dryly, not bothering to fight the smile fighting the corner of his mouth. 

Chan heaves out a dramatic breath, obviously milking it.

“Yes,” he says. “You wouldn’t believe everything that happened to me.”

“Oh?” Wonwoo smiles at him, charmed as always. 

“Yeah,” Chan starts, slanting one eye open to look over at Wonwoo. “For starters, it turns out the guy I was seeing didn’t know I was seeing him.”

Wonwoo should be mortified, he thinks. It should be so embarrassing. But Chan’s already laughing, delighted by his own joke, clearly finding the entire situation hysterical. Wonwoo can’t seem to find it in himself to do anything but laugh along with him, his own cheeks flushed pink.

“Shut up,” he mutters. Chan laughs even harder, so loud Wonwoo’s sure someone’s going to complain about the noise any moment now. The force of it sends him sideways, nearly into Wonwoo’s lap.

“Hi,” he says, finally, once he’s calmed down a little, looking up at Wonwoo, traces of laughter still left at the corners of his mouth.

“Hi,” Wonwoo smiles down at him. “Sorry about the guy you’re seeing,” he adds, because it feels like he should at least try to say something about it. “He sounds like an idiot.”

“Oh, no,” Chan says, pushing himself back upright, in a voice Wonwoo would think was serious if he didn’t know him better. “He’s really very smart.”

Wonwoo makes a skeptical sound in the back of his throat, and Chan laughs again. 

“Ah, this hyung,” he says, patting Wonwoo’s knee. Wonwoo smiles down at him. 

“Really though,” Chan says after a moment, and bizarrely, Wonwoo thinks he might actually be serious this time. “This guy helped me graduate middle school. He’s the reason I went to college.”

Wonwoo stares at him. Surely this has to be part of the joke, right? But Chan’s just looking back, corners of his mouth quirked up in a neat little smile. 

“Did he,” Wonwoo croaks out.

“Of course,” Chan says immediately. “I owe him a lot.”

He doesn’t sound overly serious, like he’s trying to convince Wonwoo, but it doesn’t sound like a joke, either. He’s saying it, totally neutral. No motive. 

“You don’t,” Wonwoo says, pausing with an awkward cough. “You don’t owe him anything.”

Chan rolls his eyes, patting Wonwoo’s knee.

“Whatever you say, hyung.”

He’s out barely twenty minutes later, his head on Wonwoo’s shoulder for the rest of the trip. Wonwoo smiles down at him, and tries to be a good place for him to rest.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **CHANGWON**  
ten years ago  
  
  
"Did you hear about Cho Yehyun? I heard he's going switch schools," Bohyung says as they make their way home from school together, following the same route they take every afternoon. 

Wonwoo doesn't say anything, his shoulders rigid with miserable tension. 

"I don't think it'll help," Bohyung continues. "Won't everyone at his new school find out, too?"

There's a buzzing in Wonwoo's ears. He's felt sick all day, hearing people whisper about how Cho Yehyun is ... _you know_. His stomach is clenching with nerves even now, and Bohyung won't stop _talking_. 

"Can you imagine being his friend? I'd be so grossed out." 

"Stop," Wonwoo manages, finally, clenching and unclenching his hands to try and let out some of the tension. 

"What?" Bohyung pauses her one-sided conversation, looking confused. Wonwoo takes a shaky breath. 

"Let's talk about something else," he says. His voice doesn't sound quite right, strangled and a little too high. 

Bohyung just laughs, the sound grating against Wonwoo’s nerves.

“Seriously,” he snaps. “Stop.”

“Whatever,” Bohyung laughs again, clearly not taking it seriously at all, and Wonwoo hates her in that moment — really hates her, so intensely it scares him. She doesn’t even seem to notice, and he hates her for that too. 

They pass the CU, and Wonwoo comes to a sudden halt. 

“Oppa?” Bohyung turns to look back at him, confused. 

“You go ahead without me,” he says stiffly. “I have to do something.” 

Bohyung stares at him for a long moment, her body tilted towards him but not quite, already ready to turn back around. The sun glints off her hair — a perfect picture.

“Okay,” she says slowly. 

She turns her back to him, then, and leaves Wonwoo standing alone.  
  



	3. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wonwoo thinks about a cold night in February, his toes freezing and his cheeks warm and flushed. Chan’s lips hot against the corner of his mouth. His ears feel very red all of a sudden.

  
  
**SEOUL**  
not too far in the future  
  
  
“So,” Soonyoung says, leaning in until Wonwoo can smell his breath, waggling his eyebrows conspiratorially. “Lee Chan, huh?”

“Shut up,” Wonwoo says immediately. He’d gotten Soonyoung’s number from Chan, who apparently has kept in contact with him on and off the whole time. He’s already not sure if he regrets it or not. “You don’t think it’s weird? I used to be his tutor.”

Soonyoung bursts into laughter immediately, as loud and grating as always, and Wonwoo scowls at him in response.

“Fuck off,” he says automatically, the response coming just as easily now as it did when they were teenagers. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Soonyoung says, straightening in his seat. “It’s just … really? That was like ten years ago, Wonwoo-yah.”

“Still,” Wonwoo says, frowning. 

“You know he was hot for you back then too, right?” Soonyoung says next, and Wonwoo almost chokes on his own tongue.

“Excuse me?” he says faintly.

“Dude,” Soonyoung says. “We were both so into you.”

“What,” Wonwoo chokes out. 

“You didn’t know?” Soonyoung looks genuinely shocked. “ _Dude._ We’d have these long conversations about how cool you were, and how tall and handsome you were, and how smart you were, and then afterward it’d be like, _Okay, good talk_ , and I’d go back to pretending I wanted to kiss my girlfriend and Chan would go back to pretending he understood the lyrics to Chris Brown songs.”

Wonwoo has no idea how to respond to that.

“You had a girlfriend,” he says, because it’s easier than getting into anything else Soonyoung just said. 

“I was very dumb and very gay, and I was also nineteen,” Soonyoung says, laughing. I don’t think any of those things should be held against me.”

Wonwoo stares at him for a long moment.

“I was gay, too,” he manages, finally. “I think I was jealous of your girlfriend.”

Soonyoung blinks at him in shock.

Wonwoo can’t help it — he laughs. It had all felt so intense when he was nineteen, so all-consuming. But now, looking at Soonyoung’s stupid, surprised face, he can’t bring himself to hold onto it. 

“I was dumb too,” Wonwoo admits, with the clarity that comes with age. “I had no idea how I felt.”

“It’s okay, neither did I,” Soonyoung says, face twisting into a sympathetic little grimace. “Jeonghan-hyung had to explain it to me like, eight times before I got it.”

“Jeonghan-hyung?” Wonwoo asks.

“You remember him,” Soonyoung says. “You had to pick me up from his house once, remember? When I got really drunk?”

“Right,” Wonwoo says, remembering. He’d had to carry Soonyoung home on his back, Soonyoung whining in his ear the whole time. “I never actually met him, though.”

“You were missing out,” Soonyoung sighs, completely oblivious. “He was my first kiss, you know.”

“What about Yukyung?” Wonwoo asks, confused.

“My first _real_ kiss,” Soonyoung clarifies very seriously. “The first one I really wanted. You know what I mean, right?”

“Right,” Wonwoo says. 

Soonyoung sighs again.

“Your first kiss was probably with someone really pretty and nice,” he says, and then after a moment, “No, that’s mean. Jeonghan-hyung is pretty, too.”

Wonwoo thinks about the first girl he ever kissed — Hyerim, after their third date. It had been dry, a little hesitant. He hadn’t asked her for a fourth one. He thinks about his first kiss with a boy, then — Junhui, who’d drunkenly declared it his responsibility after Wonwoo inadvertently came out to him, back when they were still roommates. They’d both laughed afterward — laughed in the middle of it, even, giggling against each other’s mouths until Junhui collapsed sideways and whined for more soju. 

Wonwoo thinks about a cold night in February, his toes freezing and his cheeks warm and flushed. Chan’s lips hot against the corner of his mouth.

His ears feel very red all of a sudden. He clears his throat, hopes it isn’t too obvious, fingers fidgeting with the sleeves of his sweater. 

“You should message him,” Soonyoung says, like he can see what Wonwoo’s thinking. Wonwoo startles, coughing a little and straightening in his seat.

“Message who?”

“Chan,” Soonyoung says, rolling his eyes. “See if he’ll get dinner with us! I want to see him, too. We can all hang out together.”

Wonwoo thinks his blush might be permanent at this point, but he picks up his phone to call Chan anyway.  
  
  
  
  
  
**SEOUL**  
not too much farther  
  
  
It takes Wonwoo longer than it should to work up the courage to call her, picking up the phone and putting it back down, growing more frustrated with himself every time. 

“Oppa? Is something the matter?” Bohyung is confused from the start, clearly not expecting to hear from him. 

“No, no,” Wonwoo says immediately, already uncomfortable. “Nothing like that.”

“Okay,” Bohyung says slowly. “Do you need something?”

“No,” Wonwoo says, then pauses. “Well. Yes, kind of.”

Bohyung makes an indistinct noise into the phone, clearly waiting for him to keep going.

"Is it okay if I bring someone to the wedding?" Wonwoo manages to ask, finally, his cheeks burning already. 

There’s another pause, and then — 

"Not if she's prettier than me," Bohyung says immediately. Wonwoo snorts, and Bohyung huffs out her own laugh in response.

“That was a joke, I swear,” she says. "You can invite whoever you want. It's fine." 

Wonwoo doesn't have to tell her now, he knows. The wedding isn't for almost a full year. He could wait. 

"It's Lee Chan," he blurts out, heartbeat thudding in his ears. "That's his name."

There's a pause, just long enough for Wonwoo to regret his decision, but when Bohyung laughs again it doesn't sound cruel. 

"Oh," she says. "That's — oh."

"Yes," Wonwoo agrees uselessly.

There’s another long pause.

“Thank you for telling me," Bohyung says, finally, and it's impossible to tell what part she's thanking him for. Her voice sounds careful, but Bohyung’s voice always sounds careful. She cares about the impression she makes, even with him. ”I’ll add both of you to the guest list."

"Thanks," Wonwoo says, and then he sits there, not sure what to say next. He can hear Bohyung breathing into the phone, but she doesn’t say anything either. Maybe she feels just as uncomfortable as Wonwoo does. 

“We're going home to see eomma and appa next month,” Bohyung says, finally breaking the silence. She sounds uncharacteristically hesitant. “Maybe you and your, um. Your Lee Chan could come, too. If you want.” 

“Oh,” Wonwoo says, taken aback. “I can ask him.” 

“Let me know, okay? It would make eomma happy.”

“I will,” Wonwoo promises. 

Chan is still asleep when Wonwoo slips back into the bedroom — he doesn’t usually wake up early, especially not on weekends. He makes a quiet noise of confusion when Wonwoo crawls back into bed, his head poking out blearily from under the blanket. 

“Hyung?” he slurs around a yawn, eyes blinking open to get a better look at Wonwoo. 

“Go back to sleep,” Wonwoo laughs. “It’s only nine.”

“Where did you go?” Chan asks, resettling himself on his side.

“I was just on the phone,” Wonwoo answers, curling up so they’re facing each other, tugging the blanket to cover them both. 

Chan makes a questioning noise. 

“My sister,” Wonwoo responds. Chan’s eyes blink open again, a little clearer this time. “She said she’ll add you to the guest list,” he adds. “For the wedding.”

“Oh,” Chan says, a sleepy smile taking over his face. “That’s nice.”

“Mm,” Wonwoo agrees around a yawn. His own eyes are starting to drift shut, the warmth of the blankets pulling him back towards sleep. 

Chan reaches out to pat his arm. He leaves his hand there, too tired to pull it back. Wonwoo smiles to himself. 

“We can talk about it later,” he says quietly. Chan murmurs his assent. 

“Later,” he agrees, already half-asleep.

Wonwoo hums in agreement, and then sleep pulls him under too.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you to the mods of the fest for all your hard work and patience, and to my anonymous prompting friend as well! ♡
> 
> & thank you so much to miet for talking this through with me, to pauline for reading it over, and to twig for giving me the confidence and the support i needed to finish it! i appreciate all of you so much!
> 
> i'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/springnotspring) if you want to say hi!


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